Human
by hanabobanana
Summary: After a big lacrosse game, things go very wrong for Stiles in light of who's next on the Benefactor's list. It's up to Scott and the rest of the pack to try and rescue him, but time is running out. Lydia's connection with Stiles puts her in a very dangerous place. (Eventual Stydia, hurt Stiles.)
1. Chapter 1

They'd celebrated like any crowd of seventeen year old boys would after winning their first lacrosse game of the season. Loudly.

Scott had chest bumped Stiles into a wall, having forgotten his werewolf strength amidst all the excitement. Stiles hadn't minded though and reacted only with another celebratory fist bump, still practically vibrating from the adrenaline of the match. And despite all the recent tragedies, dead pools, money issues and God knows what else, things somehow managed to feel great. Really really great.

They all wanted to cling to the feeling as long as possible for it was one that didn't come around often. They hadn't allowed themselves to feel it; to even _think_ about feeling it. But now, there was room in their hearts and heads for something wonderful. Something that required cheering and chanting and jubilating in every way possible.

Stiles had been surprised to find Lydia in his arms on the field, holding him tight, congratulating him for scoring the final point. He'd felt her hair on his cheek and the warmth of her body against his own, comforting him even when he didn't need it.

As soon as she'd let go, Malia had replaced her, planting a rushed kiss on his mouth and then wrapping her arms around him just as the banshee had done beforehand. Stiles knew this was only her way of learning; learning what was to be done when their school's lacrosse team were victorious. But it still felt nice to hold her anyway.

Now he was pulling up outside his house in his jeep. He'd text his dad the good news the second he'd managed to escape the hoards of celebrating teenagers. Five seconds later he'd gotten a text back saying '_you're a hero_' with way too many unnecessary exclamation marks, but it still made him smile despite the disagreement he held.

He'd never be a real hero, not after what he'd done.

Unfortunately, the sheriff had been unable to make the match due to an unexpected report that needed to be written for the next morning, so Stiles was actually really looking forward to seeing him. He could picture his father's face, proud and smiling, the way he wished it could always be.

After exiting his jeep, Stiles made his way to the front door, fumbling with his key in the lock only to find it open, which was strange, considering his very safety concious father almost never left it unlocked. This was one hundred percent justifiable due to their residence in Beacon Hills, the town renowned for dangerous supernatural creatures and unexplained death.

Stiles stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He'd half expected his father to be waiting in the hallway, ready to celebrate the second he arrived home, however he found it empty. Instead, he discovered him at the kitchen table, looking down at a laptop with intense concentration burned into his features. His arms were in his lap.

Okay, so something was definitely wrong. Great.

When Stiles entered the room, his father looked up immediately, though his expression was anything but proud and smiling. It was more terrified.

"Stiles, run."

Stiles seemed to go brain dead for a second. He wondered if he'd heard correctly.

"Wha-"

But then an intense pain shot through his entire body. His muscles seized and contracted. His arms and legs went rigid. And it didn't stop until he was tumbling to the ground where he hit his head hard on the floor, unable to move bar the spasms tearing through his system.

He recognised the sensation of being tased. It was horrific, and it was only made worse by what he could now see. From his place on the wooden floor he saw his fathers hands duck-taped together beneath the table, and his feet secured with the same silver bindings to the legs of his chair.

"Don't touch him." his father spoke, anger and fear trickling through his frantic voice as his eyes flicked between Stiles and the attacker that was outside of his frame of sight. "Don't you dare touch my son."

The sheriff desperately tried to stand, but his restraints wouldn't allow it. Stiles attempted to yell but the words were lost in his throat when his tongue failed to function. And when the stranger decided to speak, his stomach dropped through the floor.

"But I've been waiting so long, Sherrif"

It was Kate's voice.

And it was then that the accompanying body stepped into his line of sight, tall and blonde and psychotic as ever. All Stiles could do was lay and twitch uncontrollably as Kate tossed his father's phone down on the table. She then proceeded to strike the sheriff twice across the face leaving him wincing, blood on his lips. Stiles nearly choked at the sight.

"Still feel like a hero, Stiles?" said Kate, and Stiles thought he might explode with hatred.

"Now, before we leave, I have one more thing to clarify with you, Sheriff." Kate stated while Stiles tried desperately to gain back control of his body. His breaths came short and panicked when he was unsuccessful. He wondered how long Kate had been here. "If any other humans get involved," she said "and that includes police officers, I'll put a bullet straight through your sons head and we'll try again with the banshee. You got that?"

The sheriff was looking at Stiles when he nodded grimly, worry etched into his face.

"Thanks for being so co-operative." said Kate with a smile. She turned to Stiles then, taking a couple steps before crouching down before him. Stiles could do nothing but tremble as she wove a hand into his hair and lifted his head up from the ground, disturbingly gentle. He glared at her, anger and confusion spiking within him.

"I hope you don't mind, Stiles. But we're going on a trip." she told him, tilting her head with a slight smile. That was when she slammed his head back down upon the wooden floorboards with a crack. The supernaturally aided force sent agony bursting across his skull and caused his darkening world to sway. He heard his father yelling out his name before the pain dragged him into a deep inescapable unconsciousness.

* * *

Stiles seemed to wake several times and fall under again before coming around completely. The blackness swallowed him up repeatedly in an almost comforting way, like a blanket,or a mask upon reality. Each time he awoke, it was to an all consuming black caused by the impromptu blindfold wrapped around his head. There were vibrations ratting through his body and a loud familiar rumbling that he recognised as his own jeep. Each moment of consciousness however, felt like nothing more than an unfathomable dream, though it was a dream tainted by the throbbing in his head and an uncomfortably prominent urge to throw up. The word _concussion_ echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, buzzing like an insistent insect.

When he finally broke through to clarity, the vibrations had stopped and he found himself sitting upon a leather couch in a room he didn't recognise. It took him a while to gather his senses around the searing pain in his head, but through the darkness he made out a door and one small window, across which curtains had been pulled. He immediately made to stumble up and run, but then Kate's dark figure was in front of him, gun in hand, holding it so that the barrel was pointed directly at his head. He felt the metal pressing against the skin on his forehead then, guiding him back onto the sofa slowly.

"Don't make me shoot you already, Stiles."

Stiles sat back down, a lot less intimidated by the imminent threat of death than he should have been. Right now he just felt confused, and angry, and more than anything, worried.

"Where's my dad?" he asked, his voice serious and unwavering. Kate didn't move an inch.

"He's at home, and he's fine." she said. "I wouldn't hurt him anyway. Orphaning a child would be cruel. I'm not a monster, Stiles."

"Says the woman who burned an entire family alive." Stiles uttered bitterly.

Kate looked at him, face straight.

"It was a necessary evil."

She lowered the gun then, and Stiles thought about how easy it would be for him to run. He wasn't tied down, but there was a reason for that. He was human. There was no need for restraints when claws and supernatural strength were readily available.

"What do you want?" he asked instead. Kate looked too serious now, almost afraid.

"You'll find out." she said, her eyes dusting over him quickly. She slipped the gun into the waste band of her jeans, rolling her eyes when she caught him staring at it, a calculating look on his face. "If you try to run," she said in response to his expression, "I'll break your legs. Then you won't be running for an awful long time." Kate leaned forward slightly and Stiles found himself instinctively pushing back into the couch without realising. "We wouldn't want you missing out on any lacrosse games because you can't run, would we? Daddy would be so upset."

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Lady, you're insane." he said, though now his voice shook slightly, more at the mention of his father than anything else. Kate just raised her eyebrows, then suddenly she was behind him and out of his sight in three long strides. For some reason he daren't turn to see what she was doing, and the not knowing unnerved him an extensive amount. He found himself staring at the door, praying that any second, Scott, or even Derek would crash through, fangs out and ready to rescue their pathetic, defenceless, totally human friend. And then maybe he would get an explanation to why the hell he'd been kidnapped by Kate fricking Argent in the first place.

When Kate arrived back in front of him, there was a device in her hand. And with a pang of apprehension, Stiles recognised it to be his own phone. It began to ring, once, twice, three times before a tired and too familiar voice sounded through.

"Stiles, what's up?" came Scott's voice on loudspeaker, noticeably weighed down with sleep.

"Hey Scott. How are things?" Kate replied, and Stiles had to restrain himself from knocking the phone straight from her hand. Tension twisted his stomach into a knot of dread.

When Scott spoke again, his voice was suddenly wholly alert and awake, though laced with ice and fear.

"Kate. I swear to God if-"

"Stiles is fine." Kate interrupted. "As of now, anyway."

"Where is he?"

"Right here. You can talk to him if you like. Go ahead, Stiles."

Kate held the phone out to him but Stiles didn't feel much like co-operating with the murderous, psychotic bitch who'd tased him, knocked him out and kidnapped him, so instead he simply glared at her and kept his lips shut tight.

Kate tilted her head, then dropped the phone onto the sofa next to Stiles. The next thing he felt was intense, searing pain as long,thick claws were burying themselves in his thigh. He couldn't help crying out as his reflexes instantly sent him clawing desperately at Kates hand, the one that was now pressed firmly into his leg. But then her other was upon his shoulder, thrusting him back into the leather cushion behind him, restricting and minimising his movements.

"Stiles!" came Scott's panicked voice in reaction to his outburst of pain. Kate leant over him, her claws still deep in his flesh, her face inches from his own.

"I said, go ahead, Stiles."

Stiles gasped for breath, sweat breaking out across his forehead and neck. He did everything he could not to be sick.

"Scott," he blurted out shakily. "Scott, I'm okay. I'm here. It's okay."

As the words left his lips, Kate release her grip. Stiles seemed to breath again the second she let go. He immediately went to clutch the pained area where blood was already beginning to seep through and stain the fabric of his lacrosse shorts. The room span.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Stiles just shook his head frantically.

"Stiles? Stiles?!" came Scott's voice again, panicked and desperate.

"I said I'm fine, Scott." Stiles repeated, though the breathy sound of his voice told otherwise.

"I'm gonna get you out of this, okay?" The determination in Scott's voice was false and fearful. Stiles could visualise him perfectly, pacing his room, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of anything he could do; coming up with nothing. "I'll call Derek, Deaton, Lydia." Scott continued. "Kira, Malia, Argent. We'll come get you. I promise."

Kate seemed to hesitate at the sound of her brother's name. But if it phased her, she didn't let it show.

"If you do what I say, I'll straight up _give_ him back to you, Scott." she said, matter-of-factly. "Even in one piece if you like."

For a couple of seconds, there was silence on the other end. But then the werewolf's voice echoed through again.

"What do you want, Kate?"

Kate snatched the phone back up again and brought it to her lips.

"I want to know why someone is out there trying to kill me for money." she said, fury and what Stiles could have sworn was fear showing through in her voice. Realisation hit Stiles hard with the statement.

"You're next." he said, more to himself than Kate. The older woman looked at him, and even in the dark, Stiles could see her eyes flash with nervousness.

"What do you mean?" she said, her voice quieting.

"There's a deadpool." he said dimly, body and leg still throbbing. "All the supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills are on it."

"Including me," Scott chimed in through the phone.

"There's a list." continued Stiles, hand still pressed over his bleeding leg. "People on that list are dying. We don't know why. We don't know who made it. But you're next, aren't you?"

"No, Stiles. You're next." Kate pulled the gun out again then, placing it back against Stiles' forehead. Stiles' tensed, his heart rate giving away the fear that he refused to let show on his face. There was a click.

"You hear that, Scott?" said Kate. "That's me releasing the safety on the pistol I have pointed at your best friends head. And unless you and your little buddies come through, I won't hesitate to pull the trigger. I want this guy dead, Scott. I want him dead."

"I don't understand." came Scott's voice, urgent and frantic. "What do you expect me to do? He's trying to kill me too!"

"I expect you to work it out, Scott." said Kate. "You kids have a funny habit of being able to do that."

"You're overestimating us." said Scott. "We can't do this, Kate. We can't do what you want us to do."

Kate stared at the phone in her hand as if she were looking at Scott directly.

"Then perhaps you need some motivation."

Stiles wasn't expecting the brutal blow she planted across the side of his face with the butt of the gun. A strangled sound left his lips and he fell sideways, nearly slipping from the couch, overwhelmed with disorientation. But then Kate grabbed the front of his lacrosse jersey, lifting him up and repeating the action again. Another truck load of hurt exploded across his cheek where he felt skin split.

She hit him once more before throwing him onto the floor. His mind was far too scattered to even make an attempt to catch himself, so instead he landed with a thud that shook his whole frame. There was blood on his face, in his mouth, and the next thing he knew, Kate was grabbing his arm and tugging him roughly onto his back. She shoved a heeled boot into his shoulder, pressing down hard, bringing tears to his eyes. He couldn't help releasing a pained cry as she dug in harder, deeper. And he barely heard Scott's yells being cut off as Kate ended the call.

"I hope you know this isn't personal, Stiles." she said. "I just have to send a message. I hope you understand."

She pulled her heel away and Stiles gasped in relief. But then one, two, three impossibly powerful kicks were thrown into his side making him choke and hunch over winded. Stiles stretched out his arms and bent his legs in an attempt to crawl; to wrench himself away from the barrage of abuse, but then strong hands were around his ankle, dragging him so that his arms fell out beneath him. And again he was on his back, struggling for air and utterly vulnerable.

Kate looked down at him, and there was no pity on her face, no hesitation in her eyes, just an objective. Just a mission.

She held up the gun once more, and this time she fired.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm sorry this is such a short chapter, I just needed to get this one out so I could really get into it in the next one. Please review, it's great motivation to update sooner. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Scott opened the front door to find the sheriff standing on his doorstep. He hadn't called the man, but the red marks around his wrists and the intense expression on his face suggested he was already well aware, maybe even more so than Scott, of the situation at hand.

"What do you know?" asked the sheriff coldly.

"Enough." said Scott.

"Do you know where he is?"

Scott gulped and shook his head. The older man's face didn't change. He walked straight past Scott and into the living room where he turned round, breathing hard, looking like he might explode.

"That monster broke into my home, Scott." he said, a barely audible break in his voice. "She taped me to a chair, pretended to be me over text, and then kidnapped my son. I need to find him. I need to find him or so help me God-" The Sheriff paused and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. He looked at Scott, and the mad worry on his face was a painful sight. "She told me that you'd know what to do to get him back." he continued. This time his voice was more controlled yet desperate and wavering. "Please tell me she was telling the truth. Please tell me you know, Scott."

Scott hesitated. His heart pounded hard. He didn't know what to say.

"It's complicated." was what he landed upon.

The sheriff's eyebrows turned inward.

"Then un-complicate it." he said, harsh and low.

So reluctantly, Scott told him about the phone call he'd received ten minutes earlier. About Kate being next on their latest serial killer's hit list. About how she wanted them to kill whoever or whatever it was. And about how Stiles' life was on the line if they didn't. He chose to leave out the cries of pain he'd heard before he'd been cut off, as well as the noise of metal crashing against skin and bone repeatedly. The sounds had torn themselves an unpleasant place in his memory, and there was no need for them to be corrupting the sheriff's head too.

"So we either find this killer, we find Kate, or my son dies." said the sheriff in summary, his hands starting to shake.

"We can trace his phone." suggested Scott hopefully. "We need to start looking. We need to be at the police station. We need to tell everyone."

"No, no police." said the sheriff. "No humans except me. Where's Derek? We need Derek."

"He's on his way, why?"

"Good."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Scott could already hear Derek's steady heartbeat before he even turned the handle. The werewolf's face was deadly serious as he entered, not waiting for permission.

Scott jumped when the sheriff rushed forward suddenly and pushed Derek into the wall hard. The impact knocked a picture frame from it's mount. Stiles' father's hands were wrapped firmly into the other man's jacket.

"Stiles told me you knew her." The Sheriff's voice was like ice, severe and unforgiving. "Where would she have taken him? Tell me."

Derek glanced at the sheriff's hands, and then at his frenzied glare. Scott knew he would be able to overpower the man in a heartbeat, but the werewolf simply stood there, face contorting into one of sadness and frustration.

"I don't know." he said simply. "I'm sorry."

The sheriff's hands seemed to clench tighter for a second, but then he released his grip and stumbled backwards, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. All of a sudden he looked utterly lost, and eventually he faltered over to the couch where he dropped down, letting his head fall into his hands. Derek stepped forward opening his mouth to speak, but then he seemed to decide against it and his lips fell shut.

There was an uncomfortably tense silence. It moved to inhabit every crack of the room and rang in Scott's head, filled with unease and trepidation. It only came to an end when all three of them heard the sound of Scott's phone vibrating from his back pocket.

He pulled it out and his heart jumped at the sight of the text message with Stiles' name upon it. He almost didn't open it out of sheer fear for what he might read.

But it wasn't something he _read_ that had the claws extending from the ends of his fingers and his heart jumping into his throat, it was something he_ saw_.

Attached was a photograph. A photograph of Stiles. He was laying on a carpeted floor under dim light with his eyes closed. His right cheek was decorated with an ugly bruise and his lip was badly split. But what disconcerted Scott the most was the blood. It soaked his shorts where five puncture marks had been made. The same crimson covered the arm and right side of his jersey. Considering Kate's earlier threats, Scott could only guess the cause of it all to be a bullet. He had to force himself to keep from turning right there and then out of sickness and rage. His stomach twisted and bile rose in his throat.

Beneath the picture, Kate had written: _He's still alive. Just passed out, poor thing. But there's an awful lot of blood so I'd hurry if I were you. Show this to the sheriff. I'm sure he'll appreciate the update. Chop chop._

"Scott, what is it?" asked Derek, obviously sensing his rise in panic. The sheriff rose his head and looked at Scott expectantly; fearfully. Scott opened his mouth but didn't know where to begin.

"It's from Kate." he said finally, and his voice was the least sure it had ever been.

"Let me see it." ordered the sheriff, quickly standing up and holding out his hand.

Scott paused, pulling the phone towards him. He couldn't let the sheriff see his son like this. It would only make things so much worse.

"Scott, give me the phone right now." The sheriff stepped forward. Scott looked to Derek. The older werewolf just stared at him blankly.

"Scott." the sheriff's voice had never sounded so dark. Scott didn't move, but then the phone was snatched from his hand regardless and Scott could only watch in horror as the man stared down at the screen, face turning a deadly shade of white as he examined the image of Stiles' broken and bleeding body and took Kate's words in. After a few seconds his hand started to tremble uncontrollably and the phone slipped from his grasp. It hit the carpet with a muffled thud.

"I'll kill her." he said, and for the first time in Scott life the thought of someone's death was totally, unconditionally okay.

Kate Argent was going to die.

* * *

Stiles came back around as Kate hooked her arms under his own and lifted him easily before dumping him back onto the couch. His vision immediately blurred and his world clouded over with pain at the movement. His shoulder was burning, throbbing, searing to a point at which was border-lined unendurable.

He remembered the semi-silenced bang, the iron fist crushing the point three inches in from his right armpit where the bullet entered, and then darkness. Darkness to which he wished more than anything he could return. It was a place void of this inescapable agony. Void of anything at all. Only dreams of a past life where werewolves only existed in myth and he still chased after a girl who didn't know he existed. Maybe even his mother would be there, smiling, holding him, comforting him.

It was only the insistent ache that told him his dreams hadn't just transformed into a particularly horrific nightmare, because the haziness suggested as such. It was difficult to focus on anything, or even keep his head up. So he decided not to bother, letting his chin fall onto his chest where he felt the rise and fall of each stinging breath.

A hand tapped his cheek firmly. Then the same hand was upon his shoulder, fingers pressing harshly into the wound there. Stiles immediately shot up, hissing in pain, his throat too raw to yell.

"Wake up." ordered Kate. "I can't have you dying just yet."

She let go and Stiles held back a pained groan. Instead, he gritted his teeth, breathing hard through an onslaught of dizziness.

Kate lifted his phone and wavered it in front of him mockingly.

"I'm sure your father and friends will enjoy the little snaps I sent them. Don't you think?"

It took a second for Stiles to register what she meant, but when he did his stomach curdled and his heart broke it's sluggish pace. He couldn't believe he was putting his father through this again. After the Nogitsune. After everything. It was too much.

"You better hope they work something out soon." said Kate, and Stiles just sat, not sure whether to cry or throw a punch or just pass out again. "That bullet is still lodged in your shoulder. It could do with being removed or this is going to end a whole lot quicker than I'd have hoped."

Stiles struggled to keep his vision focused.

"Screw you." he said, and for some reason he was surprised at how pathetically empty and exhausted he sounded. Kate just looked at him, almost pitifully.

"I'm afraid Derek already did that."

Stiles' head lulled again, but he dragged it back up before Kate could take it upon herself to do so again. His eye lids were heavy and his body cold. The pain seemed to have lessened in his shoulder, however now it formed a more harrowing ache in his head and he screwed his eyes shut in some useless attempt to lessen it. He knew it was down to blood loss, and too much of it.

Kate was right. Scott needed to do something soon. Fatigue was sinking in. And he didn't know how much longer he would last.


	3. Chapter 3

"I have a question for you, Stiles."

Stiles blinked lethargically as his body gradually grew less responsive. He hadn't noticed Kate dragging up a chair. Now she sat upon it facing him, watching him, making him feel vulnerable and claustrophobic. She had her legs crossed with one arm hanging over the back of the seat almost casually.

"When I called Scott," she said, sounding like a police officer about to interrogate their suspect. "He told you he'd get help. Big werewolf Derek. All-knowing Deaton. My brother. But I couldn't help noticing he failed to mention someone very important. Someone very important _to me_. Why didn't he say Alison's name, Stiles?"

Stiles felt something curl in the pit of his stomach. He didn't look at her. He couldn't.

Kate didn't know.

She didn't know. _She didn't know._

The were-jaguar uncrossed her legs and leant forward. Stiles could practically feel her eyes burning into him.

"Stiles? Why didn't he say her name?"

Stiles swallowed, his mouth unbearably dry. He didn't say anything, and the silence seemed to transform into something solid and tangible, closing in on him, suffocating.

He glanced at Kate only for a second, but that was all it took. He caught a moment of her eyes widening with realisation before she stood up and turned away from him quickly, her hand rushing up to her mouth. She stood there for seconds that dragged on for an eternity, and all Stiles could do was sit and gaze at the back of her unfocused head, his body drenched in a cold nervous sweat.

When Kate turned back around, her face had changed into something disconcertingly calm. Some controlled sense of fury radiated from her, only making her seem more unpredictable; more frightening.

"How?" she asked, her voice low.

Stiles swallowed again. He didn't even know if he had the strength to answer. But then Kate was striking out, and her palm caught him across the face with a slap that had his head spinning. His already bruised cheek smarted and throbbed as he winced.

"I asked you a question."

Stiles dragged his head back forward, his breaths coming ragged and pained.

"Nogitsune." he said, and even the word alone made him want to punch something, or break down, or both. "It was a Nogitsune."

Kate was silent. But Stiles could tell from her face that she recognised the name, most likely through her brother. That meant she knew of it's power, it's evil; the destruction it could bring. Her eyes bored into him, never leaving his face.

"Who?" she said, and Stiles returned her gaze in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice cracking and raw.

"I mean, who? Who murdered her?" said Kate. "Yeah, I get it. The Nogitsune did. But someone had to be weak enough to let the bastard in in the first place. Someone had to offer up their reins. So, who?"

Stiles held his breath. He didn't know where to look, what to say, what to do.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she said, and her voice was too calm, too composed.

All the air in the room seemed to disappear.

"It was you." she said again. And the words tore at him because of their trueness. The only other person who'd said them was himself inside his head, and hearing them from another's lips made him want to close off; to disappear entirely.

Then Kate was gone again, walking off behind the couch and the tension within him built even further. She was gone for a while, and Stiles very briefly considered heading for the door, but he knew an attempt at escape would only end in more pain, and for some reason the threat of _broken legs_ didn't seem so empty anymore.

Kate came back a few minutes later with something in her hand. Stiles stared in horror when he realised what it was. It was a pen knife.

She sat back down and held out the blade, turning it in her hand, examining it. Then her eyes returned to Stiles.

Fear thrummed away within him. He glanced at the knife, then to Kate, and his expression said the words he didn't dare ask. _What are you doing with that?_

Kate's face remained unchanged. Serious. Deadly.

"I can see it in your eyes." she said, and her tone of voice made Stiles shiver. "It's still there, eating away at you. Consuming you. And one day you're going to give in to it. One day you're going to _crave_ it. Pain. Chaos. Death. You've had a taste, and soon it'll be an addiction. Believe me, I know. You're _bad_, Stiles. And there's nothing that's ever going to change that."

"I guess dying will" said Stiles, too exhausted for Kate's words to do the damage truly intended. "And dying's feeling pretty imminent right now."

"Oh no," said Kate. "You're not dying just yet. I won't have it. Hence this."

Kate wavered the knife in front of Stiles' face.

"I planned on waiting out for your friends; letting them patch you up, after they'd done what I'd asked of course. But something tells me I might take enjoyment out of doing it myself. That bullet really does need to be removed after all."

Stiles found himself trembling.

"Please, don't." he said, and his voice resembled some sort of lost child.

"I'm afraid I can't comply." said Kate, lifting up the blade once more.

Despite his protesting body and how useless he knew it was, Stiles immediately tried to scramble away. But Kate's free hand clamped down on his shoulder and pushed him down hard, fixing him in place.

"If you struggle, it'll only hurt more."

Under her iron grip, Stiles closed his eyes as Kate brought the metal blade to his shoulder. She cut away the fabric of his top, and when it sank into his flesh, he was deafened by his own screams.

* * *

"Concentrate, Lydia."

"What the hell do you think I've been doing all this time?"

"Just don't worry, okay? You can do it."

"Stop telling me that. Just stop."

Lydia was sat on Stiles' kitchen floor. Scott and Malia were standing behind her. Derek was already in the midst of the night trying to pick up Stiles' scent as best he could.

There was a horrible feeling within her. It was a feeling of ash and ice and fire. A feeling of death.

She couldn't believe this was happening again. Stiles was missing. And she had no clue how to get him back. Her fists were clenched so tight that her knuckles were white. Her temple was blazing with pain, but she continued to listen, continued to watch, waiting for something, _anything_. But as she sat, all she felt was pain and confusion and heart wrenching fear. She knew not all of it was her own, and that only worried her further.

"You have to hurry, Lydia." Malia's voice stabbed at her, pulling her from her head once more. "He's hurt. He could be dying. I can't lose him. Please, we have to find him."

"You think I don't know that?!" Lydia was shouting now, frustration tearing away at her insides. "You're not the only one that cares about him, okay? So be quiet!"

Malia shrunk back at Lydia's outburst, and Scott stepped forward, holding out an arm.

"Lydia, it's okay. We'll be quiet. I know this'll work. It has to."

Then Lydia was pushing Scott's hand away and getting to her feet in a rush.

"That's the thing, Scott. It won't work! It never does! I couldn't find him before and I won't be able to find him now! I can't help him. I can't help anyone! All I do is find the bodies. And I refuse to find Stiles' body, Scott. I refuse."

Before Scott or Malia could respond, Lydia was striding from the room and out of Stiles' front door to her car. It was only once she was outside that she noticed the tears on her cheeks. She got into the drivers seat and placed her hands on the wheel, staring out into the night before her. Her grip tightened as she tried to ground herself; tried to keep herself from falling apart. For a second it almost didn't work. She was at the very borderline of breaking, sobbing, screaming. But thankfully, with the help of a few deep breaths, she managed to hold on just for that little bit longer.

Lydia looked back at Stiles' house, then turned her key in the ignition and drove.

She didn't know where she was going, what she was doing. She just needed to get away; to get out. But as her car journeyed further, something began to build within her. It started out as terror, but not her own, curling and spinning and rising until her hands shook. And then she was slamming her foot down on the breaks as sheer agony bloomed within her. A scream, _Stiles' _scream, bounced from the windows of the car; echoed in her head. She brought her hands to her ears, trying desperately to drown out the horrific sound, but it was no use. Lydia fumbled for the door handle, eventually swinging it open and collapsing out onto the road. There she slid down, back against the wheel of her car, hands pressed tight to her ears again as tears rolled down her cheeks and the pain continued to swell. The only way she could drown it all out was with her own extended scream, one that would have deafened any living thing nearby. It ripped through her throat and into the atmosphere.

Eventually the chaos in Lydia's head died down. She found herself panting, exhausted as the night began to close in on her, now filled with an all-encompassing silence. The sound; the _sensation_ of Stiles' agony was now imprinted upon her mind, making her want to be sick. She looked down and saw blood under her finger nails where she had clawed the concrete road desperately, though she didn't remember doing so.

It wasn't a scream for his death. Lydia knew that. But it was a prediction for one. She knew not whose.

Lydia had never been so angry, so frustrated, so upset. She knew Stiles was in trouble, she didn't need to feel it too. She questioned the point in her abilities at all. All they did was make it so much worse for her. And now she was in the middle of nowhere, crying in the road on a school night. When had this become her life?

She fumbled for her phone, ready to tell Scott of the terror she had heard. Though before she could pull it out it, something in the distance caught her eye. Her senses jumped alive.

It was Stiles' jeep.

* * *

The darkness bled away as Kate removed the glowing blue spoon from the now cauterized wound.

"We wouldn't want you bleeding out all over my couch now, would we?"

There were tears making tracks down Stiles' cheeks now. A sob wracked though his body and maybe he should have been embarrassed, but the pain outweighed any shame that could possibly exist, or any desire to keep from giving Kate her satisfaction.

He noticed scratch marks on the woman's arm, ones that he didn't remember making. And when she pulled it away, Stiles whole body slumped. Thankfully, Kate didn't hurt him this time when his head dropped forward. It would have made no difference if she did anyway. He was too exhausted to even move. He felt like he was dying, slowly.

Kate leant back in her chair, holding the white hot utensil out before her, looking at it rather than Stiles.

"Sorry I wasn't very gentle, Stiles."

She picked up the bottle of whisky from the floor, the one she'd poured over his wound moments earlier, and took a swig.

"But I think deep down you know that it's only what you deserve." she said. "All of this. Maybe it's simply some twisted form of retribution."

Maybe if Stiles still owned half his senses, he would have retaliated, calling Kate a hypocrite, calling her a bigger monster that he was or ever would be, asking her when she expected retribution to be made for her own grotesque actions.

And if he still owned his senses, maybe he would have heard an oh so familiar banshee scream echoing into the night somewhere outside.

* * *

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW, tell me what you think, what you want to happen etc...**


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia walked, guided by some invisible thread, the way it always went, steered by the distant aura of fate and death.

It was trance-like. She didn't even think about the phone she'd left in her unlocked car, or the fact that she was completely, utterly alone. The pull within her seemed to overcome every other emotion, every shred of rational thought. It was a pull towards the unknown; towards _him, _sparked by the sight of his empty Jeep and the droplets of blood staining its back seat.

She walked through trees now, along a path she didn't recognise. The sky was cloudless, revealing a fairy grotto of stars and a bright white moon: light for her journey. The trees stretched up and reached out to tug the alleviated pearl back down to Earth, the shadows of their leafy branches dappling the cool light upon the ground. It was eerily beautiful, but it seemed wrong to think such a thing at a time like this.

There was no sound, which was strange. She felt almost as if she'd stepped into the white room at her beach house, into utter silence. The wind had abandoned its play of rustling though the trees. The insects had quit their whispering from beneath the undergrowth. The only noise came from her feet landing upon the path and the short shaken breaths that left her lips.

It was for this reason that the sound of something moving nearby had her shaken from her intense reverie. There came the snap of a dried out branch, the crunch of fallen leaves, and as the sounds drew nearer, Lydia realised with a shot of fear that whatever it was wasn't trying to be quiet. It was coming for her. And it didn't care that she knew.

Lydia came to a sudden stop, turning around, staring into the darkness. Goosebumps rose on her skin. Her heart spiked. She couldn't see it. But it was there. Watching her. And fear sent her limbs rigid.

It was then that the figure revealed itself. Huge. Familiar. Only a few feet away. There was a mask upon its face, a mask of bone. It fingers drew into blade and it's shape was outlined by the moonlight, black and terrifying.

A beserker.

Lydia's breath hitched. She stood, unmoving, simply staring. But when the creature stepped forward, something came awake within her, forcing her feet to move, forcing her to survive.

She turned and ran, her hair splaying across her face, lungs working hard and fast. Though she didn't make it far before she was crashing into something and tumbling backwards across the uneven ground, utterly disorientated. She looked up, and there stood another, looking down at her through sockets of bone, and if it had an expression, it would have told her that she'd lost; that it was over; that she was going to die.

Then, there was darkness.

* * *

Stiles was beginning to lose track of time. The world kept going in and out of focus. Every now and then, Kate would shake him awake, though he wasn't aware he'd been sleeping.

His whole body hurt, as if his own blood was the poison causing it. He was beginning to feel hot, almost too hot. He felt his hair sticking to his forehead and a sheen of sweat upon his skin. The disconcerting amount of blood from his wounds caused his jersey and shorts to stick to him, becoming stiffer and more uncomfortable as the blood started to dry. His breaths came ragged and shaken, hurting as the air passed over his parched and broken throat.

A cold hand was placed gently against his forehead; it would have been soothing if it didn't belong to the monster who'd done this to him in the first place. When Kate removed her hand from his overheating skin, a look that almost resembled concern came over her face.

She stared at him, and Stiles could only glance back before a violent cough racked through his body, only hurting his raw throat further.

Then Kate was gone, and to Stiles surprise, she came back with a large glass in her hand. She sat back down and held it out towards him.

"Drink." she said firmly.

Stiles didn't move, just stared at the glass blankly. Kate looked impatient.

"I'm trying to keep you alive." she said. "Drink it."

Stiles swallowed painfully, not sure whether to obey or not. But it didn't take long for his thirst to get the better of him. He leant forward as Kate brought the glass to his lips. He lifted his hands to take it from her, but the wrench of pain in his shoulder had him hissing and hunching over. Water, and it really was only water, spilled from the glass and down his front.

Kate rolled her eyes. After placing a hand upon his good shoulder, she pushed him back up straight. Stiles' body protested, but he was too weak to resist. She kept her hand there when she pressed the glass to his lips again. Stiles didn't make an attempt to move this time.

"Steady." said Kate, gently tilting the glass. Some of the cold liquid filled his mouth and immediately began to sooth his throat. Most poured over his chin and neck and onto the fabric of his clothes. He didn't care. He gulped it down, like liquid heaven.

Less than a minute later, the water was gone. He could only wish for more, though he knew that such a wish would never be granted. He could tell Kate was conflicted towards giving the person responsible for his nieces death anything at all. He was sure she'd rather see him dead. But right now she needed him.

At least Stiles had one thing to be grateful for.

He coughed again, though thankfully due to the water, this time it hurt less.

"They're gonna find me, you know." he said, voice too quiet. He looked at Kate with utter seriousness. "They're gonna find me. And then they're gonna kill you."

Kate tilted her head and lifted her arm to place a gentle hand against Stiles' bloody cheek. Some mock form sympathy was intended by the action.

"Oh sweetie," she said as Stiles felt her thumb stroke across his skin disturbingly. "No one's going to find you. Not unless I find them first."

Stiles really didn't want to know what she meant by that. Anger was swelling within him. Anger for his friends, for himself. The look Kate gave him was infuriating. She smiled, derisive and cruel.

"Your friends are going to do what I've asked. They're going to do it because Scott won't bare to risk the life of his hyperactive little waste of a best friend. And once they do, I'm going to put my gun to your head, and I'm going to pull the trigger. And then you'll be dead. There'll be crying and a funeral and speeches. But one day, and it probably won't even be that far into the future, they'll all forget about you. Daddy will go back to work. Your friends will take their exams and go to their lacrosse games. They'll leave smiling and cheering, and you won't even cross their minds. Not even once. Just like Allison."

Stiles seethed. Rage bloomed within him. He reached up with his working arm and shoved her hand away with all the strength he could conjure.

"You know what?" he spat. "You know nothing. If Allison were alive, she'd wish you'd have killed yourself when you were supposed to. She would hate you with everything she had. She'd probably put an arrow through you herself if it came down to it. She was everything you'll never be, and that's gonna eat you up from the inside out till the day you die. Allison would-"

Stiles was cut off by an impossibly brutal slap to the side of his head. He fell sideways. The world darkened around the edges. Kate grabbed him, tugged him back up, ready to strike again. And Stiles almost wanted her to. Maybe he'd fall unconscious, and then he wouldn't have to feel like this any more. She raised her flat palm, then curled her fingers into a solid fist.

"You have no idea what _my_ family would have done._ You have no idea_."

Her voice was furious, filled with some mad kind of rage. Stiles closed his eyes and prepared himself for the blow that never came. Kate let go of him when a loud banging noise echoed from the door. It sounded three times. A knock?

Stiles sagged, his anger dissipating when his brain fell synonymous with his body once again. Exhaustion and pain seeped in through every pore.

Kate flexed her fingers, looking like she had to resist beating him to death right there and then. But another bang at the door had her turning, curiosity seeping in to join the fury on her face.

She walked to the door, pulling out a key and unlocking it agonizingly slowly. When she swung it open, Stiles wanted to scream, to break down, to give in.

There stood Lydia. Behind her was a beserker, intimidating as ever. There were trees behind them; Stiles didn't recognise it.

Lydia swayed slightly, and then the creature behind her shoved a clawed hand into her back and she stumbled forward into the room, clutching her forehead, where with a jolt of panic, Stiles saw blood.

Lydia seemed dazed for a second before her blazing eyes met with his.

"Stiles?" she said, tears on her cheeks. She lurched towards him, but then Kate's hand was in her hair, tugging her back. Lydia's hand flew up to grasp at the other woman's with a gasp. She tried desperately to break free, but her efforts were useless.

"Oh look, the cavalry's arrived." said Kate, holding the banshee like it was nothing. She turned her head and gave the creature in the doorway a quick nod, to which it immediately disappeared. Kate kicked the door to and pulled out the gun from her belt, the one Stiles could only associate with a whole lot of pain. She released the safety with a click, simultaneously letting Lydia go and holding the gun up to point the barrel of it straight at her.

"Sit." she said, gesturing with the gun to the point on the sofa beside Stiles. Lydia's hands trembled, though she didn't move. Kate let out a sigh.

"Alright then," she said, and now she moved her arm so the gun was pointing at Stiles. "Your friend here is having a really bad day. And I'm sure you don't want to make it any worse. So sit."

Lydia obeyed almost instantly, as soon as Stiles was threatened instead. Stiles felt her weight shift the cushion beneath him as she sat down next to him. Her arm brushed his own gently. He could tell she was terrified. And he didn't blame her. So was he. He wanted to yell at her, to scream at her for coming. But his lungs wouldn't have allowed it even if he'd tried.

Kate disappeared behind them and Stiles looked at Lydia pleadingly. She didn't return his gaze, simply stared ahead into nothing. Kate came back with a roll of duct tape and her gun securely back beneath her belt.

"Two of you will be harder to keep an eye on. So I best take precautions."

Stiles could have laughed in spite of himself. In his state, he quite obviously wasn't going anywhere. It was almost funny that Kate thought he might. He wondered what he must look like to Lydia. On the verge of death, probably. And he imagined that was the same reason Kate set to securing the banshee first, wrapping the thick silver tape around both her wrists and ankles. She followed suit with Stiles, pulling at his injured shoulder and forcing a pathetic whimper from his lips.

Kate dropped back into her chair then. Her eyes were on Lydia, and the fury was still obvious, burning away behind them.

"Where are your friends?"

Lydia didn't look at the were-jaguar, or anything at all, just continued to gaze into the darkness absently, silently.

"Come on," said Kate, "Speak up. How did you find this place? Did they send you here as a distraction? Are you trying to trick me? What's your purpose?"

Lydia refused to reply. And Stiles knew Kate's patience was non-existent, a fact that was confirmed when she grabbed his leg, the same one she'd buried her claws in earlier. Stiles felt the blunt ends of her fingers pushing into the wounds there. He was too tired to cry out, to move much at all really, but his breath came choked and hitching and he screwed his eyes shut at the pain. Lydia reacted then, her eyes widening in horror.

"I'm a banshee!" she blustered, panic stricken and desperate. "I hear things. I heard Stiles. I came alone. I promise. Just stop!"

Kate's eyebrows lifted and she let go, leaving Stiles trembling. She leant back, looking confused at first; then her face contorted into one of twisted, sickly interest.

"A banshee?" she said. "Well this just got a whole lot more interesting."

* * *

**Please review review review! I love hearing your ideas of what should happen and all your comments make me happy! I love constructive criticism too! I feel like horrible person writing this. Poor Stiles. But thank you for reading. Keeps me going! I'm gonna try to update quicker. I'm sorry it takes me so long, been awful busy! Thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you guys sooo much for reviewing and following! I really disliked the last chapter. Stiles was ooc and it was poorly written. I hope this is slightly better! **

"She's not answering. Why isn't she answering?"

Scott tried Lydia again to no avail. Malia snatched her phone from him, dialling once more as if it would make a difference.

"Why would she do this?" she exclaimed, slamming the device down on Stiles' kitchen table when Lydia's voicemail reeled off once more. "Why would she leave like this, knowing Stiles is out there? Why would she do that?"

"That's the thing." said Scott, concern filling his voice. "She wouldn't."

_Would she?_ Scott knew it was a silly question. Of course she wouldn't, not with Stiles' life on the line like this. But then, Lydia didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve to have such a thing on her shoulders. Maybe they'd pushed the banshee too far. Maybe they'd been pushing her too far for longer than they knew. And she'd finally fallen from the edge. Guilt began to uncurl in his stomach like an awakening creature.

Scott stared at Malia's phone upon the table, thinking. Then he snatched it up.

"I'll call Kira and tell her to check Lydia's house."

Maybe she'd be there. Maybe she wouldn't. And if she wasn't...

"Who cares about Lydia?" said Malia, "What about Stiles?"

"You know his scent, right?"

"His scent? Yeah, of course."

"Then lets go help Derek find him."

Right now, without Lydia, there was nothing else they could do.

"Aren't you forgetting the Benefactor?" Malia stated with frustration. "Surely _that's_ who we should be looking for. You said Kate would give Stiles back if we killed them. So let's find whoever they are and do it."

"Stiles is hurt, Malia. We don't know how long he has left. The Benefactor can wait. Stiles can't."

Scott felt strange giving orders like this, especially to Malia, who stared at him, fear, anger, confusion seeping into the lines of her face. She was anything but calm, although Scott could see she was trying her best to be.

Malia paused. Uncertainly, she gandered at her phone in Scott's hand, then sighed.

"Okay." But the word was irresolute.

"Go get an item of his clothing. It'll make it easier." Scott said, not noticing the authority trickling through in his voice. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"There's something I need to do."

Malia looked as if she was about to question him, standing there perfectly still, watching him with cautious eyes, but then the were-coyote turned on her heel and sprinted up the stairs, heading to Stiles' bedroom, her body shaking with determination.

Scott remained in the kitchen. He glanced down at the torn duck tape still stuck to the arms and legs of a chair. He saw blood on the floor where Kate had sent his best friend into darkness. The air was still saturated with the scent of panic, horror, electricity. It made him nauseous; afraid.

Scott tried his best to ignore it all as he stepped into the living room, to see the man who reeked of it the most.

The Sheriff sat upon the sofa. He had Scott's phone clutched between both his worn hands. There he stared down at the haunting image of a wounded, unconscious teenage boy, his son, eyes passing over Kate's words again and again as he let them melt into his skin and bones and mind, torturing him.

Scott stepped towards him, but the man didn't look up.

The sight made Scott's stomach feel hollow, sent a dire ache to his bones. He crouched down, his breathing steady, his heart heavy in his chest. He reached out, and the Sheriff didn't protest when he slowly pulled the phone from his grasp, rescuing him from further pain. The man's glance simply transferred to his own hands instead.

Scott took one last look at the bloody image on the screen, before deleting all evidence of it entirely.

"We're gonna find him." he said, voice low but assertive. "He's going to be okay. I promise."

Stiles' father brought a hand to his face, wiped the moisture from his eyes. And finally he looked up.

"I know." he said. "I'm not losing my son. Not now. Not ever."

And then, quite suddenly, he stood up, his face changing into something hardened and controlled.

"You need to call Argent." he said firmly.

"Argent? Why?"

The Sheriff's eyes glazed over with a dark kind of certitude.

"I doubt there's anyone who knows this bitch better than her own brother."

* * *

Lydia was terrified.

The sight of Stiles when she'd been shoved into the dark room only made it worse. She found she couldn't even look at him now, because it only made her more desperate, more desperate to get him out, to get him home. On top of that, it made her afraid, afraid that _he_ was the one she'd screamed for, that _he_ would be the one to fall.

She hadn't seen the photo Kate had sent to Scott. She'd chosen not to. But whatever it looked like, she knew this was worse. His skin was too pail. The bruises were too dark. His blood was too... everywhere. It made her shake.

"Banshee. Predictor of death." said Kate, looking at her with some sick form of fascination. Lydia had never hated someone so much in her life.

"Isn't she pretty?" Kate said this to Stiles, who didn't respond. Perspiration coated his face and neck. His bound hands were hanging lose in his lap. Unmoving.

"I'm curious, Lydia, is it?" Kate's voice was unnatural, tinted with anger, interest, madness, yet covered up with this false, conversational tone, all the more unsettling. "Can you predict any death tonight? Can you predict his?"

She gestured towards Stiles.

"Can you predict anything at all?"

Lydia's shaking hands, her tears, her thrumming heartbeat, made the fear she held clear as day, though she didn't answer. She simply chose a mark on the wall and focused on it, pretending it was the only thing in existence.

"I can make this worse for you, little banshee. So much worse." said Kate in response to her silence. "Let Stiles here be an example of that." She gently tapped Stiles knee with her words. "So I suggest you play along. It would be a shame if I had to shoot one of you again."

Lydia felt her breath hitch.

"I don't know." she said, and her voice came weak and fearful.

She felt Stiles move then. His gaze was upon her, intense and worried. She didn't even need to look to know. She could feel it, boring into her, like fire. She knew he could hear the lie between her words, loud and clear.

Kate's eyebrows lifted. She brought up her hand and splayed her long fingers before her. Slowly, a claw extended from the end of each one

"I don't appreciate people lying to me, Lydia."

Apparently, Kate could hear it too.

Lydia trembled as Kate moved her hand forward. The older woman hovered the tips of her claws over her bare forearm. Lydia tried her best not to flinch as Kate applied a light pressure to her skin, sending a signal to her brain, telling her to prepare for something painful.

"Got anything yet?" The question came slow from Kate's mouth.

"I'm telling the truth." said Lydia. "I don't know."

The pressure increased and Lydia closed her eyes in anticipation. She felt nothing more though. When she opened them again, Kate had let go of her. She turned to Stiles instead.

Kate placed her hand upon the arch between his shoulder and neck, pressing her thumb to his collar bone at the base of his throat. Stiles' eyes widened for a second, flashing from Kate to Lydia, back to Kate.

"What are you doing?" asked Lydia, frantically.

"Seen as you obviously don't care about yourself," said Kate, "I thought I'd try another tactic."

Gently, too gently, Kate brought a perfect bead of blood to the surface with the tip of her claw, too bright against Stiles' washed out skin - a warning.

Stiles barely reacted at all. His glazed eyes were fixed on Lydia now, reading her, trying to understand. Lydia still couldn't bring herself to look at his face for more than half a second.

"I swear I don't know." she said, more desperate this time.

She didn't want to say it. She didn't want it to be true. She couldn't let it be.

Kate rolled her eyes.

"Alright then."

Her eyebrows turned inward and she began to press in.

"No, wait, stop!"

And thankfully, she did.

The sound of Stiles' phone ringing from her left pocket brought Kate to a standstill.

Stiles was breathing hard. His forehead was creased and his body tense, fear forcing him into lucidity. Lydia watched him slowly slump as Kate retracted her claws, looking slightly perturbed at the interruption. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the phone slowly. Lydia couldn't see whose name was on the screen, but that didn't matter because Scott's voice was loud and clear.

"Kate. We have him. We have the benefactor."

* * *

**okay, so I have to warn you. I'm making this up entirely as I go along. I have no idea what's going to happen. Thus, there will probably be pot holes galore. It's also going to be AU from this point on because this is set at the start of the season and nothing in s4 has really happened yet. You might have to get rid of common sense for later chapters because I'm terrible of thinking of plot lines. If anyone wants to help me out, that would be great! **

**I'm sorry this chapter is so short. I'm going to leeds festival tomorrow so I had to get it out quickly. Next one won't be for a while, I'm super sorry bout that!**

**Thankyouuuuuuu chickens! **


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm really sorry about this chapter, its god awful. I just dug myself a hole in the last one and had to get out of it quickly. I'm surprised I've actually managed to come up with something conceivable at all. I should have probably thought this fic through before I started writing it, but hey ho, hopefully it doesn't put too many people off! I'm basically just trying to get the characters right, even if the plot is shoddy as hell. Thank you for reading and reviewing though, I love you guys!**

* * *

They'd all decided to meet at Derek's loft, minus Lydia, to which Scott was growing increasingly unsettled, especially since Kira had received no answer after ringing her doorbell.

It was way into the night now, and all of them were exhausted yet alert with worry. He, Malia, the sheriff and a very serious Chris Argent stood around the small table towards the back of Derek's attic whilst the man himself and Kira hovered a few feet back, watching intently.

In the dim light, the wrinkles on the sheriff's face looked deeper; his eyes appeared darker. Scott felt disquieted by the sight of him, as it was a look he hadn't seen on the man since a certain dark spirit had been around. He looked wearied. He looked _old_.

Scott had started explaining everything to Chris the second he'd lain eyes upon the older hunter. Everyone else listened silently, bar the sheriff, who now just glared down at the wood of the table, somewhat angrily.

Scott could feel Malia staring at him, making sure he included every single detail, however minor it may be. It didn't take long as there wasn't much to tell, and once he had finished, Argent paused only for a few seconds, thinking. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest.

"So Kate believes there's someone trying to kill her." He sounded like he was going through some kind of protocol, slow, serious, unwavering.

"Because there is." Malia said bluntly.

"The same someone who's trying to kill us." Scott added.

A frown lined Argent's face.

"This doesn't make sense." he said. "Taking Stiles in the way that she did was rash, stupid almost. Have you tried tracking his phone?"

"She told me she'd kill him if I went anywhere near a police station." said the sheriff quickly, voice strained. He didn't even look up.

"But how would she know?" Argent retorted. Scott could see the man trying to think like Kate, like his sister; trying to get into her head.

"She'd know once we turned up there, trying to save him. That's how." replied the sheriff, and Scott could see it now. He was still picturing it, the image of his son, eyes closed and bloody, pale as death. Letting it weave itself into his bloodstream like poison.

Argent crossed his arms, thinking hard. Scott could see Malia's eyes switching between the two men assiduously.

"This doesn't make sense." Argent said again, more to himself anyone else.

"What do you mean?" asked Scott. The sight of the sheriff made his voice more urgent.

"I know Kate." Argent said, and there was a slight hint of confusion in his tone. "Or at least I did. She always knew what she was doing. She always had a plan. But this, this is a mess. Even if you do kill the Benefactor, there's no way for her to be sure unless she sees it for herself. And she can't kill Stiles; she'd lose all her leverage that way."

"I'm not so sure about that." Scott said hesitantly. There was shift in the room as he felt all eyes land upon him. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Lydia's missing too." he said, accepting the truth of the statement now.

"Kate has her?"

"No, no." said Scott, then sighed. "I don't know."

Argent raised an eyebrow. Scott glanced at Malia who had a similar look on her face, then to the sheriff, then back to Argent.

"She and Stiles always had this sort of... connection." he said, practically feeling the frown carve itself into Malia's expression. "Ever since the sacrifice. It's just been there. She finds him when no one else can. Lydia was trying to find him; she drove off and didn't come back. So, I don't know. Maybe she found him."

"Well that changes things." said Argent.

"How?" said Malia. "How does it change anything at all?"

"Kate's scared." the hunter continued. "Terrified even. If she weren't, then she would have set some ground rules. She would have thought this out. It seems to me like she's making it up as she goes along. And for the most part, that's a good thing. It means we can manipulate her. It means we can narrow her options; make this go our way. On the other hand, it also makes her more unpredictable. If Kate's scared, if she's _angry_, there's no telling what she'll do, especially if she has one to spare."

"_One to spare?_" exclaimed the sheriff. "That's my damn son you're talking about."

"To Kate, Stiles isn't anyone's son." said Argent firmly. "At the minute he's just the object blocking the bullets heading her way. So if we're going to find him, we have to do it soon. You need to get her to call you. You need to track his phone. You need to get him out."

"But how?" asked Scott frustratedly. "If Lydia's there too, what's to stop Kate killing either one of them the second she hears us coming?"

"What if Kate's not with them?" It was Malia that spoke now. "Surely she couldn't hurt them then, right? What if we lure her out? If she hasn't set any ground rules, then why don't _we_? Tell her she needs to leave? Tell her we need to see her?"

"Tell her we have the Benefactor." Derek's voice came out of the blue, straight and assertive. Everyone turned to look at the werewolf with wide eyes. Scott felt a tiny amount of hope breath tamely within him at his words.

Scott looked back to Argent who finally uncrossed his arms, and he could tell by the man's face that the plan was forming. It was terrible one, but it was still a plan. And Scott would cling to it with everything he had.

* * *

"Kate. We have him. We have the benefactor."

Kate stood up instantly.

"Scott?!" exclaimed Lydia.

There was a crash and a yell and the call cut off.

Then Kate was lashing out and Lydia had to try her best not to fall onto her side when the were-jaguar's hand made contact with the side of her face.

"Lydia!" Stiles rasped, tugging desperately at the bindings around his wrists. His attempts were pitiful. Panic burst out within him, like kindling catching alight.

"They weren't supposed to know you were here." said Kate, leering angrily at the girl whose face had now crunched up in pain. Kate's eyes quickly flashed back to the phone in her hand as she called the number back quickly. The phone rang out, and Scott's voice mail sounded through.

"Come on." Stiles heard Kate say under her breath.

She tried again only to receive the same friendly tone of his best friends voice, one without trouble or fear. It reminded Stiles of another time, a _better_ time.

Kate looked down at him for a moment, as if for some reason he might have answers. Stiles could barely return her gaze. He had to concentrate on steadying his breaths, keeping the panic at bay. Despite the sickness devouring him slowly, he could feel it rising within him. He could only channel it into anger, frustration, anything other than the sheer unprecedented hysteria that was threatening to take him over completely.

Kate looked back to Stiles' phone, pressed a button, Stiles could only assume she was turning off the loudspeaker, then tried calling Scott back once more.

He could tell by the way her eyes widened that this time it worked.

Neither he nor Lydia could hear what Scott was saying. But Kate's eyebrows turned inward and she kept glancing to the two of them, seeming to check their expressions.

"Do you really expect me to believe that for second?" she said incredulously.

Stiles glanced at Lydia, and this time she returned his gaze. Huge eyes the colour of summer leaves looked back at him, glazed over with fear. With her look of horror and confusion, he realised that the phone call meant as much to her as it did to him. She knew nothing. Had they really found the Benefactor? No. It was impossible.

He'd hoped that maybe, just maybe, Lydia was part of a plan, an awful one that he would complain about later. But no. She really had come alone. She'd found him, again. She was in danger and it was his fault.

At that realisation, the panic continued to build within him, though he suppressed it desperately, locking it away for another time when all of this would be over, when he'd be in his room, alone. _That_ was when he could let go. _That_ was when he could panic. So long as he didn't die first. But as his breaths came weaker and weaker and the blood continued to flow from his injuries, not to mention Kate's earlier threat, death was feeling more and more like his destined outcome.

"I'm not an idiot, Derek." blurted Kate. Both of their attentions were immediately dragged back to the phone call. Derek? What happened to Scott?

A few seconds passed, then Kate let out a spiteful laugh.

"That's funny." she said bitterly. "I'd have thought you'd learned by now which one of us deceives the other in this relationship." Kate's voice was almost satirical. "It would be nice to see that face again though, especially now it's all grown up."

Then Kate was listening again, and slowly her face began to change. Her eyes grew a little wider. Her lips came together into a line, her jaw set. Stiles could practically see the cogs turning in her mind, trying to process whatever she was hearing. He only wished he could hear it too.

"Where?" she said eventually, any trace of mockery gone from her tone.

Stiles heard the muffled incomprehensible reply from where he sat. Still Derek, he assumed. Kate glanced back at him again, but only for a very short moment.

"Alright." she said. "Be there now. I'll meet you when I get there. Bring him."

Another inaudible reply.

"You don't make the rules here, Derek. Be there when I am, or I'll come back and take one of their heads off, you got that?"

Kate hung up without waiting for Derek's next response.

Stiles heard a tiny sound leave Lydia's throat at Kate's latest threat.

The older woman slipped Stiles' phone into her jacket pocket before walking off behind them once more. She came back with a gun, not like the pistol beneath her belt. That seemed minuscule compared to this. This was something he'd only seen on television, bulky and threatening, the sort of thing he'd imagine Breaden, the hired gun, would carry into a fight.

"Alright kids." said Kate with a sigh, letting the gun fall down by her thigh. "Momma's got some business to take care of. I'll be back soon. Don't bother trying to run. You won't get very far with my beserkers right outside. I'm sure you're already quite aware of that though."

Kate leant forward and Stiles shivered as she ran a hand over his hair softly. It came to rest on his cheek as he continued to swallow down the panic coursing within him. He didn't have the strength to push her away this time.

Kate's voice lowered into something more sinister, more unsettling.

"Don't forget what I said, Stiles. You're not walking out of this one. _You deserve this_. You just better pray they're telling the truth for _her_ sake."

Her hand rested there a few seconds longer, and Stiles shook with dread. Kate's head tilted to the side, a small pout turning her lips. Then she straightened and headed towards the door.

_They have a plan_, Stiles told himself as Kate exited the building. _They have a plan_. _They have a plan._

If only he actually believed it.

* * *

**Again, I'm sorry. Stydia next chapter!**


	7. Chapter 7

**AAAH I'm sorry this took so long. I've been struggling so hard with this story. Hopefully it will start getting better soon. I'm sorry if the end of this is rushed and abrupt, I just didn't want to make you guys wait any longer! Please review as it's great motivation to update quicker. I love to hear what you think/what you would like to happen. Thank you poppets! (p.s I haven't proof read this so please forgive any mistakes)**

* * *

"Stiles. Give me your hands. I think I can..."

Awkwardly, Lydia pulled Stiles bound hands into her lap and started scratching at the tape around his wrists using whatever mobility she'd been left with to get him free. She couldn't move her fingers very much, but maybe, just maybe it was enough.

"Lydia, what are you doing?" Stiles voice was a weak rasp.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"No." said Stiles. "What're you doing _here_?"

Lydia looked up, and Stiles looked back at her. Beneath the bruises, blood and lethargy, Lydia could see panic in his eyes, panic for her. It was something she hadn't seen in him since the sacrifice, when his father's life had been on the line. Though this time it was subdued by blood loss, hazed over by the disorientation that came with his obvious concussion. It was a look of desperation, fear, trepidation. It made guilt erupt within her.

"Like I said," she muttered. "I heard you."

Lydia set her concentration back upon the tape, clawing with hard determination until eventually she managed to peal it away. With a little of Stiles' help, she stripped the tape from his wrists entirely, having to shake it off onto the floor when it stuck to her own skin instead.

Stiles gazed sleepily down at his hands for a moment. A dazed look was on his face as if he'd never seen them before. Then Lydia watched as he pulled his less responsive arm towards his chest slowly, grimacing and releasing a pained sound with the movement. He held his breath as he leant forward and ripped the tape from his ankles with the hand he could actually use. When he sat back up, the breath juddered out. There seemed to be permanent lines on his forehead now.

Lydia felt him grab her wrists.

"Stiles, you don't have-"

"It's okay."

Soon Lydia was free of her bindings too. The second she had control over her arms, she wanted nothing more than to pull the boy before her into a tight embrace. One that would tell her he was real, that he wasn't going away. And as long as that was true then everything would be okay. But she knew it would only cause him more pain, and she couldn't bare the thought of that.

Confusion struck her when Stiles lifted his hand and gently moved the hair from her face, but then she noticed his eyes worriedly examining her forehead where the beserker had hit her.

"Are you okay?" he asked weakly.

Lydia grasped his hand, pushing it back into his lap.

"Am _I_ okay?" she blurted out. "Look at you, Stiles. You need a hospital."

"It's not that bad."

"Yes it is."

Lydia couldn't help but notice the singes in his t-shirt surrounding the blackened wound less than an inch away from his lung. That wasn't what frightened her though. It was the once white material now dripping red with his blood that really made her stomach turn with dread.

"I'll get you some water. Pain killers. Bandages. Anything. Just stay here."

Lydia stood up quickly, desperately trying to hold it together.

"Where are you going?"

"Just stay here."

There was a door behind the sofa. Lydia felt Stiles' gaze following her as she hurried over to it before stepping into what appeared to be a small kitchen diner. There was a familiar quality about the room, one of bazaar normality. There were shelves with semi-rusted pots and pans upon them, cupboards sheeted with laminate, a musky silver sink put to shame by a glinting tap that looked to have been recently replaced, a small table with an empty mug left stranded upon it. Was this Kate's home? Surely not. It was strange to think of someone so monstrous residing somewhere so human.

Lydia rooted through drawers and cabinets, even the minuscule fridge, but all she found was an uneven scattering of dishes and cutlery, a few measly scraps of food that looked almost inedible anyway, and some dangerous looking gadgets that she knew nothing about. She could have slapped herself when she remembered that Kate was a .quick healing shape-shifter to whom first aid supplies would provide no use whatsoever. So abandoning her initial mission, she filled a glass with water, frustration tearing at her due to how pathetically ineffective she felt.

As she re-entered the other room, she saw Stiles. He was standing, then swaying, then falling.

"Stiles!"

Lydia pelted towards him, trying to maintain her hold on the water as she hooked her arms under his own to stop him from crashing to the floor. As delicately as she could manage, Lydia steadied him to the ground until his back came to rest against the foot of the couch. He blinked his eyes back into focus, seeming to search aimlessly with them until eventually they landed upon Lydia's face.

"Woah." he uttered.

"I told you to stay where you were."

Lydia perched herself on the carpet next to Stiles' legs. She put her hand against his forehead. Her breath hitched at the sheer heat that radiated from his skin.

"What? What is it?"

She knew the worry on her face was clear as day.

"You have a fever, Stiles."

"So?"

"Don't try to act like you don't know that's a bad sign."

Stiles swallowed and his eyes fluttered shut for a second. When he opened them again they fell upon the glass in Lydia's hand.

"Is that water?" he said, obviously trying to change the subject to something other than his blatant deterioration.

Lydia nodded and proceeded to help him take a sip. Their hands met upon the glass as he drank.

"You find any painkillers?" he said once he'd had enough.

Lydia had stopped crying a while ago, but she had to steady herself as tears threatened to swell again.

"I'm sorry." she said simply, hating how useless she was. Stiles' jaw clenched.

"It's alright." he said. "I doubt they'd do much anyway."

Then, to her right, something caught Lydia's eye.

She reached over and snatched up the bottle of whiskey that sat on the carpet, quickly checking if there was any left.

"There's this?"

Somehow in his state, Stiles still managed to look incredulous.

"Maybe I should at least stay a little lucid for when the time comes to get out of here." he said, though his words were hollow.

"Stiles, you're an idiot if you think you're walking out of here. You can't even stand up. The others will come. Besides, a couple sips won't hurt."

"Sounds like you're trying to get me drunk."

"Sounds like I'm trying to help you. So shut up and drink it."

Stiles looked at the bottle sceptically, but soon he was taking it in his hand and putting it to his lips. He took an uncertain mouthful before briefly coughing and screwing his face up at the taste.

"Oh God." he croaked.

Lydia pursed her lips.

"Here." she said, taking off her cardigan and pushing it against the punctures in his leg. Stiles hissed.

"Sorry, sorry." she sputtered. "We should keep pressure on it. Can you bend it?"

Stiles nodded and obeyed, allowing Lydia to wrap the cotton garment around his thigh once he'd lifted it from the floor. Eyes shut tight, Stiles' head fell back onto the sofa when she made a simple knot and pulled it as tight as she could manage. Thankfully the cardigan wasn't one she was particularly fond of. Once she was done, Stiles breathed out heavily.

"Thank you." he said.

Lydia gave a sad smile, her hand resting on the boy's uninjured leg. Stiles tried to return it, but something cold and heavy seemed to weigh his expression down. She could see it in the taught skin across his tensed jaw; in his eyes where speckles of glassy light pooled, like they'd been subjected to an omen that only Stiles understood.

He took another gulp of the golden brown liquid, and this time he breathed through what Lydia knew must taste like gasoline.

"Do you think they really found him?" Lydia asked. "The benefactor I mean."

"No? Maybe. I don't know." replied Stiles. "Doesn't matter. Kate's gonna kill me anyway."

"No she's not."

"Yes, she is." Stiles voice was stony and grim. "Look, maybe this doesn't have to be so bad. If Kate went to see the others, she probably took one of her beserkers, right?" He stopped to cough, a sick, broken sound. "That means there's only one left. What if I go out there and distract it? Then you might be able to run."

"Are you kidding me? Stiles, it would kill you."

"So?"

"So, _it would kill you._"

"But you could escape."

"Firstly, that would never work. And secondly, do you really think I'd want to do that without you?"

"No." said Stiles with a sigh. "That's the problem."

Frustration rose up within Lydia. She huffed, opening her mouth to say something rash and stupid, but then her eyes fell to the carpet.

"But you'd leave without me." she said quietly. Stiles frowned at her, confused.

"You're so willing to sacrifice yourself, aren't you? To leave me behind." she said. "Well I'm sick of being left behind. By you, by _everyone_. Ever since Allison died. So you're staying with me this time, okay? I don't care if that means we both get torn apart by beserkers, or if Kate comes back and kills us both. _You're not leaving me_."

Stiles stared at her, and seconds passed, seconds that were filled with an odd kind of tension,

"Okay." he rasped. "I'm not leaving you."

* * *

She arrived at the school forty minutes after the phone call had ended.

Derek, the sheriff and Chris stood in a line. The sky was in that eerie stage between night and morning, where pale grey to the East faded into thick black. They'd been waiting there for what seemed like an eternity when suddenly Derek tensed and turned his head, listening.

"What? What can you hear?" asked the sheriff nervously.

"Stiles' Jeep." replied Derek. "She's here."

Reaching into his pocket, the sheriff turned to Chris before pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Chris held out his hands without pause, and Stiles' father clicked them in place around the other man's wrists.

"You sure about this?" Derek addressed Argent.

The older man just nodded.

When the Jeep pulled into the area with Kate alone at the wheel, the three of them found themselves searching for any other signs of threat. Her beserkers were nowhere to be seen.

Kate stepped out of the vehicle, a large firearm dangling by her side. The sheriff's hands twitched at the sight of her, his face a picture of pure hatred.

Kate walked forward cautiously, until she stood about ten feet away from them. Her hair wavered in the tiny breeze; a chill crawled over the parking lot, across the sheriff's neck.

"I want to talk to him." she said.

"Where's my son?" blurted the sheriff, using every ounce of will power to resist rushing forward and throwing a punch.

"I said I want to talk to him." repeated Kate, her voice unchanging.

But Chris was already walking forward.

"So talk." he said, coming to a standstill in front of the armed woman. His face was indecipherable.

Kate's face was a plethora of emotion. Anger, confusion, distress. She stared at her brother, as if waiting for him to say something more, to explain. But when he failed to do so, she stepped backwards and lifted her gun until Chris was staring directly at its barrel.

"Why?" Kate said bitterly.

Argent's eyes were like stones, his body like marble.

"Tell me _why_." Kate repeated, shaking the gun slightly. It was action intended to demonstrate assertiveness, but all that really showed through was painful uncertainty.

"You're not going to shoot me Kate." said Argent, unwavering. "I'm the only real family you have left."

Kate's hand was shaking permanently now.

"Right back at you, big brother." she said, her voice something else entirely from the sly song they'd heard through the phone. "Yet you'd pay to have me killed. Your own flesh and blood. Explain that."

"We hunt those who hunt us. That'll never change, Kate. You of all people should understand that."

Kate's eyes went wide for moment, and if it weren't so dark, the beads of moisture forming there might have been visible. She stepped forward, pushing the gun closer, her finger pressing against the trigger. Derek's fingers curled into tense fists at the threat.

"Your own family. You'd kill your own family."

"I've done it before. I can do it again."

"Then why did you get caught." Kate said, more quietly this time. Despite the weapon inches from his head, Argent never once broke eye contact with his sister.

"I gave myself in." he said. "The teenagers you took are innocent. And we protect the innocent at all costs."

"_Innocent?_" Kate laughed, a cold, injured, spiteful sound. "He killed her, Chris! He killed your daughter. How can you call him anything less than a monster? Let alone _innocent_."

"You have me." said Chris, ignoring her frantic words. "It's time for you to let them go."

Kate's hand wavered. Her finger twitched. She shook her head.

"No."

The sheriff heaved in a deep, trembling breath. Chris frowned.

"And if you're telling the truth. If you're the _benefactor_." said Kate. "I'm sure everyone here will thank me for this."

Derek could sense it coming before Kate pulled the trigger. It seemed the sheriff could too. He pulled out his gun and followed as Derek sprinted forward, throwing Kate to the ground so that her weapon unloaded into the air rather than her brother's head. The sound was deafening.

Chris stared, seemingly in shock, but then he was snapping the handcuffs off in a heartbeat and pulling out his own pistol.

Claws tore across Derek's chest and then Kate was crawling out from beneath him, her face transformed into the creature she'd become. Chris lifted his gun with the intention to plant a wolfsbane loaded bullet in the were-jaguars leg, but a dizzying force connected with the side of his head and he crumpled to the ground in semi-consciousness.

That was when the beserker appeared.

It tossed the sheriff to the side with ease. He landed unconscious a few feet away, blood upon his temple. It preceded to throw Derek to the ground, stamping a heavy foot down upon his chest, pinning him there while he struggled relentlessly.

"You lied to me." Kate's words tore through her throat as she clambered to her feet. Chris tried desperately to make his limbs co-operate, but as he looked down at his arms, his vision darkening, it felt like they no longer belonged to him.

"You're not him, are you?" Kate addressed Chris, though her voice was distant and wrong. Somehow her gun was back in her hand and she pointed it at him again, though it was unlikely that she'd use it after her revelation.

"You're not the benefactor." It was hard to tell whether Kate was speaking out of anger or relief.

Suddenly, she stilled.

"Where's Scott?" she said, her eyes quickly surveying the parking lot as if maybe she'd missed him before. And then realisation hit her hard like a fist.

"You shouldn't have done this." she told them coldly. "You know who'll suffer for it."

Chris could only be thankful that the sheriff wasn't awake to hear Kate's promise.

"Make sure they don't follow me." Kate ordered the creature that still had Derek pinioned to the concrete ground. Kate took one last glance at Chris, whose arms buckled once again beneath him, before turning on her heel and stalking back to Stiles' Jeep.

"Derek," heaved Chris. "Now would be a good time to wolf out."

* * *

A short time later, Scott, Kira and Malia arrived at the edge of the forest.

"How long do you think they'll be able to stall her for?" asked Malia as the three of them jogged into the trees. Every step drew them nearer to the perimeter of the two mile radius the trace had shown, nearer to their friends.

"Long enough." replied Scott, though he knew his prediction was tainted with a naive sense of hopefulness. Especially now that Stiles' scent was plucking at his receptors in different ways: fresh and distant, old and near, both dirty with blood and something else. Something that smelled remarkably and terrifyingly, like death.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm really sorry if you didn't come for Stydia, because here it is. Trigger warning for panic attacks. I'm sorry it's taking me so long to update, but I appreciate everything you guys do. Review review review! (I haven't proof read, so forgive me if it seems rushed/there's mistakes)**

* * *

"Hey, hey, Stiles. I need you to keep your eyes open, okay? Just keep looking at me. Don't go to sleep. Can you hear me? Stiles?"

It had been over an hour since Kate had left. Though time was blending into something inconceivable and immeasurable, so it could have been much longer. Stiles could feel Lydia's hands on his cheeks, coaxing him back to her, back to cold reality. Her touch felt so close, yet somehow it was in a different world entirely.

"Shouldn't have given me alcohol." he mumbled, though he wasn't entirely sure if the words actually came out. Lydia's short distressed laugh confirmed that they had.

So he could still speak. Things were looking up.

Opening his eyes felt like lifting lead weights, and when he did, he saw that Lydia's cardigan was already stained red upon his leg. He didn't know if his stomach could turn any more than it already had.

"Look at _me_, Stiles. Not that."

Stiles dragged his eyes up to the girl who still cradled his face. She was closer now; he could feel her shallow breaths upon his sore skin.

"That's it." she said. "Don't you dare pass out on me."

"M'trying my best."

"I know." said Lydia, and her eyes shone with the moisture beading there. "Why don't you talk to me, Stiles? Just for a little bit, okay? Just talk to me."

"About what?" Stiles heard the crack in his voice, felt it too. Lydia bit the inside of her lip.

"The game." she said. "Tell me about the game. You were great out there on, Stiles. I want to hear all about it."

Stiles let out a little cough.

"I was pretty great, wasn't I?" he rasped. Lydia gave a smile that just about reached her eyes.

"I think it helped that you were there."

"What?"

"Just like last time. You were there and we won. It's got to mean something, right?"

Lydia's thumb gently stroked the patch of bruise free skin on his left cheek. It was comforting, though for some reason Stiles could barely feel it. The world was shrouded with something heavy, yet his body felt weightless as air.

"You're beautiful, Lydia."

Lydia's thumb stopped moving.

"You know that though," he murmured, and he couldn't really understand the delirious quality that now touched upon his tone. "I mean, you probably don't know that. But you know that I know it. And you should too. It's not even that fake kind of beautiful. It's the real kind. Am I making sense?"

Lydia looked to be on the crossroads of laughing, crying, and simply rolling her eyes.

"You're right." she said. "I shouldn't have given you alcohol."

Stiles response was cut off by the pain it caused him. He hunched over with a grimace, and the world swayed about him as if he sat upon the deck of a bobbing boat. His eyes fell shut again, though only for a moment.

"Am I dying?" he said. His hazy stupor cut him off from the bluntness of the words.

"What?"

"Because it feels like I'm dying."

He was losing his mind too, and he hadn't nearly drank enough whiskey for that to be the cause of it. Lydia grabbed his hand now, almost too tight.

"You're not dying, Stiles."

"How do you know?"

"Because I just do. Banshee, remember" Her voice was shaking, encasing a lie. "Besides, your dad would murder you if you died."

Stiles inhaled sharply. He knew she hadn't meant to, but Lydia had just struck the panic chord within him.

"No no no, Stiles. He'll be fine. _You'll_ be fine."

Lydia obviously realised the moment it left her lips.

"My dad, shit, Lydia, my dad."

"Stiles, no."

"What's he going to do, Lydia? What's he going to do?!"

"Please, Stiles. It's okay. You're okay."

But Stiles' breaths had already shortened into hurried, frantic affairs. Tears were falling again, though he couldn't feel them. Lydia was speaking to him, crying, though her voice was a universe away. He was going to die. He was going to die and his dad would be all alone.

The panic was setting in, hard and heavy like cement solidifying in his veins, in his lungs. A hand was clutching at his heart, squeezing.

But Lydia's hands were back on either side of his face then. Her thumbs brushed the tears away tentatively. And subsequently her touch sparked a memory. A memory of a locker room floor and a beautiful girl and pain and panic and horror. He remembered holding his breath and the pain subsiding. Only a little, but then she was there and his father was alive and they survived.

_They survived_.

So that's what he did now. He held his breath. He closed his eyes, staring into the darkness. And somewhere within its depths, her lips were on his and Scott was rescuing them and Allison was smiling. He held his breath. And it all slipped away.

"Stiles?"

Slowly, carefully, he let go of the darkness, let go of the air trapped in his lungs, and the small part of his brain that still held the capability to think lucidly somehow broke through, if only for a second.

"I'm okay." he answered.

Lydia's eyes were wide. Her lips were parted. Her make up was smudged. He focused on the lines of her face, her tinted lips, her flushed cheeks, her eyelashes, until there was nothing else but he and her. His arms fell limp by his sides once more, his breathing subsided into something almost bearable, and then there was quiet.

It took a few moments for Lydia to realise that her hands were still upon Stiles' face, cool against the pure heat that it emitted. She pulled them away gingerly, watching him in fear.

"Did you kiss me again?" he croaked, because somehow Stiles' memories and reality had blurred into one long string of confusion. His mind wasn't really working any more. Not like it should have been anyway.

"No." said Lydia. "You remembered to hold your breath."

The laugh Stiles let out was short and lost, though he didn't know why he was laughing at all.

"It must've stuck with me somehow." he uttered.

"Yeah," said Lydia. "It must've."

Stiles let his head fall back against the sofa once more, and he'd never felt so tired in his life. He wanted to sleep. He really _really_ wanted to sleep. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave her. He'd promised.

* * *

Lydia hadn't been able to look at Stiles' beaten form before. Now she couldn't keep her eyes off him. Each of his worn breaths sent a jolt of discomfort to her chest. Each time he closed his eyes, she worried they would not re-open.

She could see, hell, she could _feel_ the life slipping from him. The longer they sat there, the more blood he lost, the worse his fever became. His words were slurring; his mind was scattering before her eyes, and she didn't know how much of that was down to the alcohol.

The others weren't here. They weren't here and Stiles was dying. She had no clue how long they'd be, if they'd even come at all.

It had been hours now. Stiles had been bleeding out for _hours_. She needed to get him out. She needed to to get him home.

She needed _him_.

Lydia knew that moving someone with a head injury was dangerous, if not plain stupid. But she was beginning to think staying put would be even more so. Stiles wasn't going to last much longer, and maybe, just maybe if they made it to the road, someone might drive past, or his Jeep might still be there. Then they could drive to the hospital and she wouldn't have the burden of another dead best friend on her hands.

But what if they both wound up dead. What if they ended up being dragged back by a beserker in worse condition than they'd left. Then she'd have hurt Stiles further for nothing, risked his life for nothing.

Lydia remembered the word's Kate had whispered before she'd taken off on the back of the phone call.

"_Don't forget what I said, Stiles. You're not walking out of this one._"

What if Kate came back? And she _would_ come back, there was no doubt about that. Staying would practically be certifying Stiles' death. She couldn't do that. She couldn't just sit here and wait for him to fizzle out, or be killed by some crazy bitch of a were-jaguar.

So that settled it. They were leaving.

Stiles didn't even ask Lydia what she was doing when she stood up and headed for the kitchen in a rush. She skidded over to one of the drawers, the one she remembered discovering a bunch of Kate's gadgets in earlier. Maybe one of them might be of use.

One of them was a serrated flip knife. She grasped it, examined the sharp edge, held onto it, then continued looking. She then picked up a strange looking black rod, and turned the dial on the handle to watch it spark to life. It must have been some kind of were-wolf level taser slash cattle prod. Whatever it was, she was keeping it.

The rest of the drawers content was completely alien to her, so she ran back into the other room, now armed with weapons that provided remarkably little comfort in the wake of what they might be about to face.

"Is that a knife?" questioned Stiles when she came back.

Lydia looked at the blade in her shaking hand, then down to the dying boy on the floor.

"It's for you." she said. "You're going to need something to defend yourself with."

She crouched down, clutched Stiles hand, then folded his fingers around the handle. It took a few seconds for him to realise that holding it required effort on his own part.

"Why?" he said, once the blade was securely in his grasp. Long sentences seemed to be evading him right now.

"Because I'm getting you out of here." Lydia responded. "So I'm going to need you to try and think straight, okay? And I know it's going to be hard, but you're going to have to stand up and walk. The knife's just a precaution."

Stiles didn't answer, and the silence was worrying.

"Can you walk, Stiles?" Lydia pressed.

Stiles face was uncertain.

"I think so." he said, and Lydia knew that deep down he understood. He must have known, even more so than herself, that the time he had left here was limited. Their options were to stay here, wait for the pack and most likely die, or try to make it out of the forest with similar odds. But if they were going to die, as cliché as it seemed, they might as well do it trying.

Stiles was already attempting to stand up on his own accord, so Lydia set to helping him. She hooked his good arm over her shoulders as to not jostle his injury, and tried to take as much of his weight as possible. Despite how slowly they moved, Stiles still swayed into her once they were upright.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Stiles. "Just dizzy."

"Hold on to me." she said firmly.

They limped toward the door, only to find that Kate had locked it on her way out. Of course she had.

"Dammit." breathed Lydia.

"What now?" uttered Stiles.

But Lydia was already moving. She let go of Stiles, hoping he would be able to support himself, and picked up the chair that Kate had been sitting on. She made her way through to the kitchen, faced the window and threw it with all the strength she could conjure. The glass smashed with a startling shatter as the chair disappeared into the woods beyond.

If the beserker was out there waiting for them, then the sound would have sealed their fate, but the ringing silence that followed suggested that maybe Kate had been bluffing. Maybe she'd taken both of them with her. Hope trickled in from somewhere dark and unexpected.

Lydia tugged down one of the thick curtains and splayed it across the jagged glass that stuck up from the border of the window. It wasn't much, but hopefully it would stop them from being sliced open on the way out.

She turned around to go and get Stiles, but found that he was already there, clinging to the door frame, breathing tattered breaths. He didn't speak, but he understood.

* * *

It took them too long to make it outside. Far too long. By the time both of them were in the night air, Lydia had cut her arm and Stiles had collapsed on the uneven ground, groaning in pain. Climbing through a broken window in the midst of a later stage of hypovolemic shock deemed more difficult than she'd first imagined, not to mention the bullet wound restricting the use of his left arm.

Stiles took back hold of the knife that he'd dropped into the undergrowth besides him, and Lydia dragged him to his feet, apologising profusely.

"You're bleeding." he mumbled.

"So are you." Lydia replied.

With his arm hanging heavily over her shoulders, they began to walk. It was slow progress, sluggish and tiring. And the further they journeyed into the forest, the shorter and more strained Stiles breaths became.

Lydia didn't know where they were going. She didn't know how far away the edge of the wood was, or if they'd even make it there before Stiles passed out from blood loss, beserkers or not. But now that both of them were trailing their blood tainted scent all over the place, hopefully it would make it easier for the pack to follow their scent and find them.

"Are we still alive?" murmured Stiles after a good ten minutes of laboured walking. Lydia couldn't quite measure the seriousness of the question.

"For the moment." she replied.

Stiles stumbled a little, but his face remained as if he'd not even noticed. She tugged him upright, somehow managing to keep him going.

"Lydia, I've gotta tell you something-"

"No you don't."

"I do." Said Stiles. "I really do."

They broke through into a small clearing then. The dim light of early morning blended each detail into a grey canvas. Lydia struggled with Stiles' weight, exhaustion seeping in.

"What is it?" she said, though the tone of his voice told her that she really didn't want to hear it.

Stiles came to a stop. He turned, unhooking his arm until he stood facing her, holding himself there.

"You've got to tell Scott that I'm sorry." he said. His voice was borderline a whisper, and it broke Lydia's heart "You've got to tell him that I'm sorry for Allison. I'm sorry for everything. And I need you to tell Malia that she'll be okay, that I _know_ she'll be okay. And you. I've got to tell you that I-"

"Please don't, Stiles." Lydia interrupted. "You can tell them yourself when we get back. And believe me, I know."

"You know what?"

Lydia would have answered, but she had no time for she was already turning the dial up on her black rod as far as it would go and thrusting it forward, straight into the chest of the beserker that had come out behind Stiles.

She stared in horror as the huge creature stumbled backwards, electricity coursing through its body. Stiles spun around, eyes wide.

As the creature recovered itself, Lydia made to step forward and plant another shock, but then a clawed hand had grabbed her wrist. Another turned the dial down. And then her arm was being bent painfully until the tip of the rod touched her own skin instead. She immediately crumpled to the ground, pain, shock, disorientation raging through her like nothing she'd ever felt.

"Lydia!" she heard Stiles voice echo from somewhere distant. Then came a sickening snap, followed by a strangled cry of agony. It might of been her own, but she was too lost to know.

Then Kate was above her, and Lydia knew that whatever plan the others had contrived hadn't worked. And she remembered what Kate had said. She remembered it all too well.

"_You'd better pray they're telling the truth for her sake._"


	9. Chapter 9

**okay, I'm really sorry about the brevity of this chapter. I feel like I've forgotten how to write. I hate really short chapters, but I felt like I was leaving it too long again. I never intended to hurt Stiles this much either I don't know what happened. But hey ho I hope you don't mind it. I love you my lovelies. **

* * *

Lydia felt as if she'd been struck by lightening, her very bones singed. She pushed against the soft ground, trying to make her limbs co-operate, though she didn't have much luck. For several seconds, she was utterly perplexed. And then the clouds started to dissipate in her mind and their situation became all too clear.

Kate would hurt them now. If the pack had lied to her, if they'd tried to trick her, Lydia knew it was only a matter of time before another photo would be sent their way. Though maybe this time she would replace Stiles as its focal point.

She glanced at the boy who was on his front next to her. How he'd got there she did not know. He was already in the process of pushing himself up, though soon the single arm he was using gave out and he collapsed again promptly, narrowly avoiding a face full of dirt on impact as he rolled onto his side. He let out a noise that slightly resembled a sob, and the sound of Stiles' pain seemed to overcome any that she was feeling herself. She attempted to pull herself closer to him, wondering what was wrong with him.

"Get up." said Kate, her voice bitter.

Lydia felt Kate grab her arm and drag her to her feet, and then one of the beserkers clawed expenditures replaced Kate's hand, holding her still, though she still swayed in the wake of the shock she'd received.

"Get up, Stiles."

Stiles was clutching his arm against his chest on the forest floor. Tears were on his face.

"I can't... I can't." he gasped.

Kate looked impatient, angry, untamed.

"Help him." she ordered Lydia.

The moment the creature behind her let go, Lydia dived to her knees, placing one gentle hand on Stiles' bicep and another against his cheek. She watched as he pressed his forehead into the ground, eyes screwed tightly shut.

"What did you do to him?" Lydia questioned, looking from Stiles to Kate frantically.

"I promised him I'd break his legs if he tried to run." Kate responded. "But that wouldn't exactly work in my favour right now, so I broke his arm instead. It's only fair. Now get him up. We have to go."

Lydia stared, horrified. And Stiles coughed into the dirt.

"I can't." he said again. "Lydia."

His eyes were still shut in pain, and Lydia didn't know where to look, what to do.

"Please," she begged. "Please, he doesn't deserve this."

"Funny." said Kate, her eyes cold. "Get him up. Now."

Kate pressed the button on the rod that she now held, allowing the electricity to pulse through it. She pointed it at Lydia, and the threat of another shock was enough to coax her onwards.

"Stiles," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Stiles, you've gotta get up. Please, Stiles."

Her hand was in his hair. stroking. In response to her voice, Stiles opened his eyes. He looked at her, though Lydia wasn't totally sure if he was truly seeing her until they landed upon Kate's weapon. At the sight of it pointing at Lydia, he nodded slowly and shifted, restraining a grunt.

Lydia felt his hand tight upon her shoulder and together they struggled to their feet.

He felt heavier now, more of a burden.

"Move." said Kate, once they were upright. "That way."

She pointed in the direction they'd already been walking.

"Why?" asked Lydia, because surely they should be going back to the house. Kate didn't answer, simply glared at them as if to say, _are you really questioning me right now?_

Stiles took the first step, and seen as she was his main reason for standing, Lydia followed suit.

* * *

They maintained a similar pace to before, though Lydia found it increasingly difficult to keep Stiles upright. She was already exhausted, and she couldn't begin to imagine how Stiles must be feeling.

The sound of the beserkers heavy footsteps came from a few metres behind, and Lydia couldn't help but wonder where the other one was.

Kate walked close behind them. She had the rod tucked beneath her belt and the same gun she'd had earlier in her hand. Every now and then she would nudge it into Lydia's back if they slowed too much. Though even with the added incentive, it was still hard to keep the pace Kate desired.

She had no idea how long they'd been walking for, though soon the cold was biting at her fingers and feet. She shivered. Her body ached. And then suddenly, Stiles arm was slipping from her shoulders and she scrambled to support him as he fell.

It was a momentary loss of consciousness on his part, and he came back around before he hit the ground. He landed with a quiet thud on his back, and Lydia fell to her knees next to him. He blinked at her in confusion.

"Lydia?" he mumbled.

"What are you doing?" said Kate. Her voice was alarmed. "Get up. Keep walking."

"He can't walk any more." said Lydia.

"Yes he can."

"Please, we have to rest."

Stiles dragged himself up into a sitting position, still pressing his broken arm tight against his chest.

"I'm okay." he uttered. "I'm alright."

"So get up." repeated Kate, darker this time.

"No." said Lydia. And then she stumbled to her feet and turned to face Kate. She stood tall, though her hands still shook. Something told her that this was no time for resiliency, but a strange feeling was running through her, something close to anger. "We have to rest." she repeated, her voice adamant. "And if you're not going to let us do that, then you might as well just kill us already."

Kate looked as if she was about to laugh. But not in spite. Not in mockery. Somewhere inside, and it wasn't even that well hidden, she was afraid.

"Princess," she said, stepping forward, raising her gun slightly. "If your pathetic little friends had just done what they were told, none of us would even be in this position right now. It's their fault you have to do this, not mine. Either way, I don't hold much sympathy for murderers, so shut up and keep walking."

_Friends?_ It was only then that Lydia noticed the tear in the arm of Kate's jacket, the blood that peeped through. There was a bruise on her face too, both of which were new injuries. Or at least they hadn't been there before she'd left to see Derek. There was something Kate hadn't told them. Lydia could see that now.

Their friends were coming. That was why Kate was so afraid. That was why she was so desperate to leave. Lydia began to see the hinges coming loose in Kate's plan, in her entire facade. Kate didn't know what she was doing. She was a woman running solely on fear and rage and grief. That meant she could be undone. All Lydia had to do was stall.

"I won't." she said, taking a deep breath. "We're not going to keep walking. We're staying here."

"Lydia, don't." came Stiles weak, slightly delirious voice from the ground.

"You won't?" Kate responded, eyebrows raised.

Lydia just stood still, unwavering. She expected nothing less than the blow Kate planted to her head with the butt of her gun. She tried to stay on her feet, but the pain and whiteness that exploded in her skull sent her back to her knees.

Stiles yelled out something indecipherable in her few seconds of bewilderment. She was expecting Kate to say something. To drag her back to her feet. Tell her to just _walk_. Or at least strike another blow. But when she shook herself into clarity, Kate was no longer looking at her. She'd gone still, her eyes examining their surroundings, peering into the grayness.

Suddenly, Kate's head snapped round, like a rabbit sensing a predator. Her eyes widened, panic seeping into her face.

Someone was closing in, and Kate knew it.

* * *

"Hold her."

Lydia screeched and her hand went up as a clawed hand of the beserker tugged painfully at her hair, dragging her back to her feet.

She watched as Kate lifted Stiles from his place on the ground. The boy whimpered, attempting to support his own weight when Kate wrapped a secure arm around his throat. His back was pressed up against her now, and his knees buckled as he tried not to choke.

Kate raised her gun and fired it twice into the sky. Two huge bangs rang out, loud enough for the whole forest to hear, making Lydia jump.

"It's too late, Scott!" Kate yelled, and Lydia immediately stopped struggling at the mention of their friends name. "You're too late! Come any closer and I'll kill him."

There was something mad in Kate's voice, something almost terrified. Silence came in return, with only the resonating sound of the gunshots filling the void of greyness about them. Then, came the sharp snap of a twig somewhere nearby, or at least that's what Lydia thought she'd heard.

"Scott?" she whispered hopefully.

But when she looked, there was nothing there. Around them, the trees stretched into something unfathomable and impenetrable. There was another tiny snap, this time unmistakable, and Kate's head swung round, eyes surveying the tree line meticulously.

"Did you hear me, Scott?" she uttered. "Listen to my heartbeat. You know I'm not lying. You're too late. So leave now. Find the benefactor. And maybe I won't have to kill him and my beserker won't have to kill you."

Silence.

"Scott," gasped Stiles. "If you're out there, don't listen. She's gonna kill me anyway. Just save Ly-"

But Kate tightened her hold around Stiles' throat, strangling the words into a premature stop. In some sick way Lydia thought _good_, because she was about to tell him to shut up herself. Kate's threats were real. Too real. And Stiles was here, so ready to break his promise to her. To leave her.

"Just save Lydia, huh?" said Kate, half to Stiles, half to whoever was standing in the darkness. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper, one Lydia could barely hear. "You love her, don't you?" Stiles clawed at Kate's arm, trying to loosen her grip. "You murdered someone that _I_ loved, Stiles. She's dead. Do you think you could love a dead girl?"

Stiles choked, clawed, thrashed, for he knew what was coming. But Kate was already lifting her gun to point it at Lydia. Lydia's mind went blank. Her hand loosened upon the beserker's. Her breath caught in her throat. Kate's finger pushed against the trigger and Lydia waited for the final, silencing bang.

* * *

**Please forgive me. I am evil.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm sorry this has taken so long. I've had major writer's block. My brain just isn't working. But I hope it's okay.**

* * *

The scent of Stiles' blood was too strong now. It was frankly sickening, but Scott, Malia and Kira chased it through the forest anyway, and with each step they knew they were getting closer. They'd seen Lydia's abandoned car at the edge of the forest, which only confirmed their hopes.

As they ran, Malia maintained a look of intense concentration, though Scott knew the fear she was really feeling. Kira had her Katana on her back, ready to pull it out at the first sign of trouble.

It was Lydia's voice that Scott heard first. Strong, wilful, angry.

He looked across to Malia, who nodded to show she'd heard it too.

All three of them immediately began sprinting towards the sound, and Scott didn't register the way Kira trailed behind, unable to keep up. He was too full of hope. Too ready to rescue.

But Kate's voice came then. His stomach dropped to the ground at the realisation that they were too late.

The plan to lure her away hadn't worked. He came to an abrupt halt at the sound of her serious tone. Malia skidded to a stop next to him. They were close. Very close. Scott caught a glimpse of Lydia's red hair through the trees and flung himself behind one of the thick trunks for cover, pressing his back to the rough bark. He glared at Malia, who quickly understood and copied him. Kira caught the gist as soon as she arrived, panting for breath.

Suddenly there was Stiles' voice, a hoarse and pain infused croak, making Scott feel ill. He swallowed his rage, trying to suppress the sick feeling rising within him.

He didn't know what to do. But it was too late to go back now. Scott knew that leaving Stiles' rescue for another time would be just as good as killing him.

He noticed a familiar scent then, amidst the fear and blood. It was a beserker, though he shouldn't have been surprised. He chose to ignore it for now, tuning in his hearing, listening for what was to come.

"You won't?" came Kate's questioning voice. And then suddenly the sound of metal crashing against skin echoed out, then the thud of someone's body hitting the ground. It was Malia that reacted first, claws breaching fingertips and fangs slipping into sight. She moved, ready to attack, and the uneven earth crunched beneath her feet.

"_Malia, stop!_" whispered Scott urgently. Malia obeyed reluctantly, but he already knew their cover was blown by the silence that suddenly enveloped their senses. Malia shifted, and a tiny but sharp snap came from where she stood, a fog horn amongst the quiet. It was all Kate needed to zone in on their heartbeats, their breathing, their scents, too near to go unnoticed.

"Hold her." ordered Kate, a command obviously directed at her beserker.

There was shuffling, Lydia's cry, then pained noises that Scott knew to be Stiles. He noticed Malia's hands clench into tight fists. Claws drew blood from her palms.

He couldn't stay like this any longer. He had to see.

Scott leant to the right a little, peeking out from behind the tree trunk and focusing his vision until all was visible.

Kate's arm was around Stiles' throat and a gun was in her hand. The beserker had Lydia by the hair. Kate's head was turning, her eyes searching as if she couldn't pinpoint their exact whereabouts. Too many heartbeats. Not enough experience.

She fired the gun. Once. Twice. Each shot seemed bitterly symbolic of the futures his two closest friends could soon be facing.

"It's too late, Scott!" she shouted, and Scott swallowed anxiously. He saw Stiles' eyes widen a little and Lydia grow stiller. "You're too late! Come any closer and I'll kill him."

Scott glanced at Kira, who looked as lost as he felt. Malia on the other hand looked like she was about to set alight with fury.

None of them moved closer. But they didn't move further away either.

"Did you hear me, Scott? Listen to my heartbeat. You know I'm not lying. You're too late. So leave now. Find the benefactor. And maybe I won't have to kill him and my beserker won't have to kill you."

Scott didn't need to listen to Kate's heartbeat to know she was telling the truth. He could hear in the woman's voice how desperate she was. She knew that if she killed them, she'd have nothing left to bargain with. But that didn't seem to matter to her now. If she was going down, she was hell bent on taking Stiles with her.

Scott was beginning to panic. If he left, his best friend would die. If he stayed, chances were that both of them would. Neither option sat very well with him.

"Scott." Stiles' voice was a rasp. ""If you're out there, don't listen. She's gonna kill me anyway. Just save Ly-"

When Kate cut Stiles off, choking him, it looked like Malia might burst. Though Scott didn't react much better.

"Just save Lydia, huh?" said Kate. And then much much quieter: "You love her, don't you? You murdered someone that _I_ loved, Stiles. She's dead. Do you think you could love a dead girl?"

Scott couldn't understand why he didn't see it coming.

Kate raised her gun. And there should have been a bang. He should have seen Lydia's eyes, wide and vacant in death.

But instead came a scream. Kate's scream. And Scott watched as Stiles dropped to the ground, hand bloody from where he'd thrust a knife, previously tucked into the waste line of his shorts, deep into Kate's side.

Kate stumbled backwards, and Scott needed nothing else. Nor did Malia. Nor did Kira. They were already attacking.

* * *

_The knife's just a precaution, _Lydia had said. _Some precaution_.

Stiles was trying to piece together what was happening, but his mind wouldn't process it. Everything was beginning to feel like a violent dream where everything hurt and nothing made sense.

But one thing that did was Lydia. The banshee, still so beautiful.

He'd already accepted that his time was up. But he couldn't leave her. And he couldn't let her die either.

Stiles gulped down air that wouldn't come. He wrapped his hands around Kate's arm and pulled, and the pain of broken bones and bullet wounds seemed irrelevant.

It was only when Kate raised her gun that he remembered it, there, pressing into his hip, what seemed like his last hope.

She cried out when he pushed the serrated blade backwards without aim, so it must have hit a mark. He didn't think to brace his legs when she released him, or couldn't think to, and his mind went white as the impact jolted his useless arm.

He could feel the change around him, hear the roars of were-creatures, of his friends. And for a second he couldn't help thinking that he'd killed them all. They weren't just up against Kate. They were up against a beserker. A killing machine.

Lydia's hands turned the thoughts to smoke. They were pulling him away, clutching his arms, and it hurt like hell, so he pushed with his legs to help and soon his back was against a tree. Lydia clutched his hand tightly, and her eyes flashed from Stiles to the fight unfolding behind her and back again. Fear was all over her.

It was like a movie reel playing out before him, as if their was a barrier between two different worlds. Stiles watched as Malia and Kira tried to hold off the beserker, and it seemed like they were losing. He wanted to tell them to run. He wanted to tell Malia that she could stop protecting him now. That he didn't deserve it. But the words wouldn't come.

And then there was his best friend. He was on top of someone, clawing and punching. His eyes were red. And his face was less human than even a werewolf's should be. His hands came back bloody, but he kept going, hitting, clawing. Stiles wanted to tell him to stop, because it wasn't him, he wasn't a killer, but again the signal wouldn't reach his lips.

"Scott!" came Malia's voice, and Stiles panicked as she was thrown to the ground.

Scott finally halted in his rage filled attack, only to direct his fury elsewhere. It all seemed to happen in a heartbeat. One second the beserker was alive. And the next, its large body was lying still on the ground next to another smaller figure, equally unmoving. Scott stood still now, breathing hard, and Stiles had never seen him look so enraged, so dangerous, so _monstrous_.

"_Scott..._"

* * *

It was Stiles' voice, albeit a whisper, that snapped Scott out of it, that forced him to realise himself. But he had no time to think of the blood on his hands, or the fragments of bone strewn amongst the undergrowth. Stiles was all that mattered now.

The wolf in him settled as he raced over to his best friend. Kira did the same, shortly followed by Malia who dragged herself up from the ground, already healing. Lydia looked at him, and she opened her mouth to speak, but something made her stop.

"Stiles..." he and Malia spoke simultaneously.

Stiles didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on Kate's lifeless body. And Scott had to force himself not to follow his friends gaze, for he knew that he would see blood and bone and empty eyes. And knowing that _he'd_ done that, knowing that he was even capable of doing that: it was too much. Stiles seemed to be in disbelief, but soon he was looking up at him, lost and confused.

"Scott?" he rasped again. Scott found himself standing still, staring, unable to comprehend the state his brother was in. Though Malia rushed forward and dropped to her knees while Lydia maintained a vice-like grip on his hand. When Malia reached him, she paused to just take him in, and then she smiled because he was alive and she could hold him again. Though of course she didn't. She seemed afraid to even touch him.

"Guys, I'm okay." Stiles rasped in response to the looks he was being given.

"You've been shot, Stiles." said Scott, and his voice cracked with the words.

"I know. Pretty cool, huh?"

Scott didn't find that funny. Not even in the slightest. Though he was pretty sure Stiles didn't either. And then the smell hit him again. Blood. So much of it. And he knew it wasn't over yet.

"We have to get you out of here." he said, finally finding the ability to move again. He stepped forward, and Lydia reluctantly let go of his hand, allowing Scott to wrap an arm around his torso and carefully lift him up. Scott did everything he could to avoid glancing at the bodies on the ground. They meant nothing, not when his best friend might be joining them soon if they didn't act fast.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" said Malia. Lydia and Scott exchanged a look full of fear and uncertainty. Malia saw it happen, and panic wrote itself across her face. "Guys, he's gonna be okay." Her question became a frantic statement. "Scott? Scott, stop it. Stop looking like that. Stiles, tell me you're gonna be okay."

"I'm gonna be okay."

It really didn't look or sound that way though, as his eyes were half closed, and he wasn't really supporting his own weight any more. Malia went to grab his other arm but Lydia stopped her.

"It's broken."

Malia's outstretched fingers curled up and her bottom lip trembled. Scott held his breath for a second. Stiles didn't deserve this. It wasn't fair.

"How far is edge of the forest?" asked Lydia.

"Not far." said Kira. "Less than half a mile, I think."

Scott knew that _not far_ might not be close enough. Not for Stiles. But there was nothing they could do about that now. They had to start walking.

But then he felt Stiles' body go slack next to him. The boy's eyes fell shut. And then they were back on the ground again.

"Stiles!"

He was still breathing. But only just.

Lydia grabbed Scott's shoulder, and he turned to her. Fresh tears were falling from her eyes, and Scott knew it was because she could feel it. She could feel it coming. His death. It was her burden as much as it was Stiles'.

"Scott," she said, her voice shaking. "You have to carry him."

Scott nodded. He proceeded to hook an arm under Stiles' back and the other beneath his legs, lifting his lax body from the ground relatively easily.

"What about the bodies?" asked Kira, suddenly.

"What about them?" responded Malia, and Kira quickly learnt how unimportant they seemed in retrospect.

"Come on." said Scott. "Your car's this way. Someone call his dad."

They all followed him without pause, and Malia pulled out her phone. None of them even knew if the sheriff was still alive, or Derek, or Chris. Scott supposed they were about to find out.

* * *

They reached Lydia's car first, and the sight of it made her heart soar with relief. They'd been half running the entire distance, and she could have collapsed by the time they reached the road. Her legs ached and the air stung her throat.

The keys were still in the ignition where she'd left them. Her phone was still on the front seat. She looked to Scott, whose face was grey with exhaustion, and it was only then that she realised he'd been leaching Stiles' pain the whole way.

Malia ran around to the other side of the car and climbed in so that when they opened the door and carefully manoeuvred Stiles inside, she could hold him up. He still slumped in the seat though, and his eyelids fluttered with the movement. Though thankfully, the jostling of his broken arm didn't strike pain across his face thanks to Scott.

The werewolf hadn't let go yet. He leant forward, holding onto Stiles. Black veins still meandered along his skin and perspiration coated his creased forehead.

Stiles stirred, and a breath, slightly more powerful than before, came to his lips.

"Lydia..." his voice was somewhat pleading, but not all there. Lydia looked at Malia hesitantly, but the coyote simply frowned with impatience.

"What are you waiting for?" she said. "He wants you. Get in."

Scott seemed to hold on a little tighter, reluctant to let go. Lydia placed her hand on his arm, trying to tell him that _it was okay, _that he'd taken enough. Scott's jaw was set, but finally he released his grip.

Lydia slid onto the back seat so that she and Malia sandwiched Stiles. She grabbed onto his hand and wove their fingers together firmly. His skin no longer felt warm in fever. Instead it felt deadly cold. Not only that, Lydia noticed that all colour had drained from his lips. It frightened her immeasurably.

"Lydia..." Stiles murmured again, turning his head to her. His eyes were open but they didn't really see her, so Lydia squeezed a little tighter.

"I'm here, Stiles."

Stiles seemed to relax again at the sound of her voice. His body sank once more into the leather seat. Scott stared at his brother, only for a second, looking helpless, but then he sprinted to the drivers side, getting in swiftly. Kira took the passenger seat, and it was mere moments before they were driving. Scott didn't hold up on the accelerator.

"My Jeep..." said Stiles, moving to sit up and failing miserably. He certainly had his priorities straight, thought Lydia. Though she was just relieved he was still responsive, even if it only came in bursts.

Her relief was short lived, for when she looked in the rear-view mirror at Scott's face, she could see focus, determination, slowly crumbling away to terror. His knuckles were white where his hands gripped the wheel. She knew he could hear Stiles' increasingly sluggish heartbeat, the same way she could feel him slowly slipping away from her. It meant nothing though. _He wasn't going to die_, she reassured herself with adamancy. Her scream had been for Kate. No one else.

Stiles slipped under again, and when he came back around five minutes later, all he murmured was "Where's my dad?" as if he'd woken from a nightmare in which something terrible had happened and he had to make sure it wasn't real.

Lydia could have broken in half.

"He's fine, Stiles." said Scott, and both she and Malia glanced at him with uncertainty. Stiles' face was contorting again now as the effects of Scott's siphoning quickly gave way to that of his injuries.

"How do you know?" His voice was strained and distant.

The truth was, they didn't. No one was answering their calls, and the absence of a beserker didn't make that fact any easier to swallow.

"Guys, how do you know?" Stiles mumble grew more solid when he received no answer from them. Lydia swallowed. She didn't know what to say. None of them did.

But then the sound of Scott's phone ringing saved them, at least for a moment. Scott pulled it from his back pocket, glanced at the screen, then passed it back to Lydia quickly.

"It's Derek." he said.

Lydia answered the call immediately.

"Derek?"

But to her surprise, it was the sheriff's voice that replied. Something within her let out a sigh of thankfulness.

"Lydia? They found you?" he said frantically. "Where's Stiles? Let me speak to Stiles."

"He's here, Sheriff." Lydia assured. "We tried to call you earlier. You didn't answer."

"Just please, let me speak to my son."

"Dad." Stiles said simply, as if he were already speaking through the phone, because maybe he thought he was. "Dad."

"He's not really in a state to talk right now." said Lydia, wanting to save the sheriff the pain of hearing his son so broken. "But we'll be at the hospital soon. Meet us there."

"No hospital." muttered Stiles. "Can't afford it."

"That's Stiles. I can hear him." said the Sheriff. "Lydia, tell me he's alright."

"No hospital." Stiles said again, as if he'd forgotten the little fact that he was minutes away from bleeding to death. Though considering his current mental state, he probably had.

"I'm afraid I'd be lying if I told you that." said Lydia, pulling Stiles' hand closer to her, attempting to comfort herself. "But he will be. I promise." She could hear the doubt in her voice clear as day.

"Okay." said Stiles' father. And Lydia could tell he was trying to calm himself. "Alright. Just, tell Scott, tell everyone, whatever you do, do not listen to a single word my son says."

Lydia stared at the boy to her right, the boy who was already slipping back under to somewhere a hell of a lot more peaceful than this. His eyelids were drooping again, and as he slid, there was a swelling in her throat and chest, something close to pain. She knew what it meant. It was everything she hated. But there was no way she was letting it take another person she loved. Not him. Not Stiles.

"Wasn't planning on it." she said to the sheriff before hanging up. And then, "Scott, you better drive faster."

They were running out of time. And fast.

* * *

**True alpha Scott!1!1111! I feel like the rescue was a little anti-climactic, so I apologise for that. I'm really struggling to write lately. Thank you for everything that you do though. and keep reviewing my lovelies.**


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